Paradise in darkness
by Hellinbrand
Summary: My version of how Radiant Garden fell into darkness. Featuring the fall of Ansem, the birth of Organisation XIII, the origins of Cloud and Sephiroth's feud and much more. CloudTifa, CloudAerith, SquallRinoa. Written pre-'Birth of Sleep'
1. Prologue

Prologue

The Keyblade Master stared over the rail. Beneath the bridge, the river ran a rich blue, streaked with the fire of the setting sun. It was slow; gentle, yet unstoppable.

There was the sound of footsteps on the gravel path. The Keyblade Master turned. A figure was approaching the bridge from the east. His bronzed armour glowed in the evening light. His cloak was thrown back from his shoulders and he carried a helmet under one arm.

"So," said the Keyblade Master, turning back to the river "it has come to this."

"It need not" said the bronze figure, his expression hopeful.

"But it will" said the Keyblade Master with a sigh "There is no return from here"

"If you would only surrender it…"

"How can I surrender it?!" demanded the Keyblade Master, swinging round to face the bronze figure "It chose me! _I_ am the Master. It is my destiny…"

"Your destiny is what you make it" the bronzed figure replied, a real note of pleading in his voice now "You can give it up, freely. Let this end."

"No. It is decided"

The bronzed figure turned to look back up the path. A woman was approaching, clad in purple armour. Her cloak was also thrust back from her shoulders, but she wore her helmet, with the visor down.

"It may yet be avoided…"

"You know what he did" said the woman grimly "You know the chaos he wrought…"

"Against the darkness!" the Keyblade Master broke in "I did it for the greater good. There was no other way. You must understand."

"There is always another way" the bronzed figure said sadly.

"Have you said your piece?" asked a fourth voice. A man in silver armour had appeared, approaching from the east to stand on the bronze man's left. He wore his cloak and helmet like the woman.

The Keyblade Master stepped sideways into the middle of the bridge. Extending his right arm out to the side, he summoned his Keyblade: silver with a golden guard.

"I will not surrender it" he said grimly, bringing the Keyblade forward to guard position.

"Very well" said the bronze figure. With a sigh, he placed his helmet on his head. He let his arms hang loose at his side for a moment. In his hand there appeared a large Keyblade made of bronze.

With a sudden burst of speed, he leapt across the bridge. Wielding his Keyblade in both hands he went straight for the Master. The Master blocked the first stroke. He hurled the bronze figure back, striking at head and chest. The bronze figure deflected the attack and countered, slashing at the stomach and legs. Catching his opponent's Keyblade in the teeth of his own, the Master wrenched the bronze figure's arms up, exposing his body. The teeth of the Master's blade raised sparks as they screeched across the bronze breastplate. A second blow, this time to the head, sent the bronze figure crashing to the floor.

Now the woman stepped forward, wielding a golden Keyblade with silver guard in one hand. Her strokes were fast and precise. The Master stepped back, blocking each one as it came. Lights flashed and shimmered down the Keyblades as they clashed, lighting up the evening shadows on the bridge. Standing his ground, the Master lunged at the woman. She blocked, but her riposte went wide. The Master's arm sprang back, dealing her a powerful blow to the gut. The stroke felled her but her armour, although rent open, saved her life.

The silver figure closed with the Master, his Keyblade resembling the wing of some enormous bat. He kept the Master at a distance, attacking little, as his companions regained their feet. A look of concern passed over the Master's face as his three opponents closed in together. The Master moved with an inhuman speed: slashing, ducking and blocking again and again, but unable to land a decisive blow. The teeth of the silver Keyblade sparked off armour plating, but cut no deeper. The Master's three opponents began to work together, forcing him back along the bridge.

It was over in a matter of moments. The Master, approaching the western path, made to turn. A halo of light began to play around him as he rose up into the air. As one, the armoured figures raised their Keyblades. Three thin lances of light struck the Keyblade Master. There was a flash of light and a roar like a mighty wind. The armoured figures were hurled from their feet.

"It is done then"

The armoured figures, struggling to stand, turned to look. An old man, robed in rich blue and wearing a pointed hat, stood at the eastern end of the bridge.

"Master Yen Sid…" said the bronze figure reverentially. The three figures knelt as the wizard crossed the bridge.

"You have done well" he said solemnly as he passed them. Turning, they saw him bend down. The Master's Keyblade was lying on the path, right where he had disappeared.

"This Keyblade has decided" Yen Sid said, raising it up to examine it in the dull orange light of evening.

"Is… he dead, Master?" asked the bronze figure tentatively. Yen Sid considered the question for a moment.

"No. I do not think we have heard the last of that particular Master. A new phase in the Keyblade War is about to begin. I will take this Keyblade. My apprentice shall protect it until its next Chosen Wielder is revealed. Whoever they may be."

* * *

The former Keyblade Master awoke. He was lying on his back. His vision was blurry but he could just make out the vaulted ceiling above him. He felt warm; he was lying on something soft. He tried to raise himself up to look around. Pain shot through his body and he collapsed back with a gasp. Even the slightest movement was agony.

"My lord, my lord! He's awake!"

It was a woman's voice, calling from somewhere to the former Master's right. Now he could hear footsteps approaching; loud and crisp on a stone floor.

A face appeared above him. It was a man's, middle aged, with a strong, kind face and the most extraordinary eyes: bright orange and keen as razors. Their fire seemed to draw the colour out of his face, even from his gold-blonde hair and beard.

"Good morning," the man said. His voice was rich and very deep.

"H-hello" said the former Master, his throat strangely sore.

"I am Ansem. What is your name?"

The former Master stared. He could not remember. Why? What was his name? When did he go to sleep? Had he ever been awake?

"You… cannot remember?" asked Ansem. The former Master shook his head.

"Do you remember how you came to be in the forest?"

"Forest? What forest?"

"Not five miles from the town. On the trail down to the plain?"

The former Keyblade Master shook his head again. His mind was blank. Searching his memory was liked passing into the deepest night: nothing could be seen.

"Do you remember _anything_?" asked Ansem. He was staring thoughtfully at the former Master now, his chin cupped in his hand.

"You appear to be suffering from acute amnesia" he said at length "But I cannot tell why"

"You… found me?" asked the former Master.

"Yes. You were near death. For a long time, I feared for your life. You have remarkable strength, Mr. X"

The former Master frowned.

"Sorry," said Ansem, smiling "We have been calling you Patient X."

"_You_ do not know who I am?"

"No. I have made inquiries but as yet no-one seems to know you. You are quite the enigma, Mr. X"

The former Master lay back, staring into middle distance.

"What am I to do?" he asked, after a moment's silence.

"I will help you, to the best of my abilities" Ansem said. The former Master was impressed by the sincerity in his voice.

"Can you recover my memories?" the former Master asked.

"Maybe" said Ansem "But it may take time."

"I can wait"

"But not until you are fully healed" said Ansem with another smile "We must find a name for you. 'X' is a name for a lab experiment, not a man."

"How can you call me anything different?" the former Master wondered "I am just another man, like any other. How can I have a name if I do not know who I am?"

Ansem stood for a moment, running his fingers through his beard.

"Hmm," he said "Yes… If you are just 'another', let that be your name. May I suggest… Theanor? An anagram, if you will?"

The former Master considered it.

"No. I like it, but I like 'X' too. It is… distinctive."

"Well then, let me see…" Ansem relaxed into thought again:

"I know. Your name shall be… Xehanort".


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Three years later…

* * *

Ansem leant forward on his desk, chin cupped in his hand. A court record, bound in a blue file, lay open in front of him. He was listening to a voice speaking to him from the computer panel on the rim of his desk.

"We'll hold them in the court cells overnight" it said "We can transfer them to the dungeon tomorrow morning."

"Very good, Laguna" said Ansem "Let me know when the transfer is complete."

"Will do, m'lord"

"Ansem out"

Ansem reached down and deactivated the comm-programme. He sighed and lent back into his chair.

These past few months had been very trying for the old man. The ENCOM trial was the biggest in the Garden's history: it had revealed an unprecedented level of corruption in all levels of the company. Seventeen senior executives had been arrested for a number of serious offences. The trials had been long and tortuous: dozens of witnesses had been brought forward, reams and reams of evidence presented before the court. In the end, every single executive had been convicted. Ansem, as judge, had ordered their finances liquidated and sentenced each of them to twenty years imprisonment, to be followed by permanent exile from the Radiant Garden.

Still, Ansem mused, perhaps something good could come from this situation. Reaching forward, he took a computer disk from inside the court record. It was the only surviving copy of ENCOM's computer system: they had used it to hack into various personal computers, blackmailing and embezzling on a vast scale. Perhaps it could be turned to a better purpose, Ansem thought.

How could such greed have crept into the hearts of so many, he wondered? So much needless pain and suffering. Why? What compelled people to do such things? What lay in their inner-most hearts? For that matter, what was a heart?

Intrigued by this train of thought, Ansem stood up. Leaving his study, he climbed a spiral staircase to the rooms above. Passing through another door, he entered a small room lined with white tiles. Benches were built around three walls, with a free-standing bench running down the middle. Ienzo, Ansem's youngest apprentice, was standing at the far end of the room. He was adjusting a pane of glass held in a metal frame. Aeleus, a man both tall and broad, was standing by the door, tossing a baseball in his hand.

"Nearly ready" said Ienzo, pushing his long fringe aside to look closely at the metal frame. Aeleus shrugged.

"What's this?" asked Ansem, intrigued. His two apprentices turned and bowed to him.

"Research for the gardeners, master" explained Aeleus, straightening up "Children keep breaking the greenhouse windows. They asked us to find a way of strengthening the glass."

"It's ready" said Ienzo, standing back from the frame. Reaching into his white lab coat, he produced a pair of safety goggles and strapped them on.

"Please stand back, master" said Aeleus. Ansem moved aside, watching the experiment carefully. Aeleus, placing the baseball in his right hand, raised his arm and pitched it as hard as he could towards the glass. The ball struck the glass, passed halfway through it and remained stuck there. Ienzo sighed and picked up a pair of forceps from the bench beside him.

"It's not supposed to do that!" he whined, prising open the liquid-glass with the forceps "It's supposed to rebound!"

"Patience, young man. A scientist needs patience, above all else" Ansem chided.

"Yes, master" sighed Ienzo, holding up the baseball to examine it in the light. Some of the liquid-glass had become stuck to it.

"We need another ball, Aeleus" he said, bending down and depositing the used ball in a bin.

"Did you want something, master?" asked Aeleus as he turned to the open bag of baseballs at his feet.

"I am looking for Xehanort. Do you know where is he?" said Ansem.

"I think he's upstairs. In the library" said Ienzo from the far end of the room.

Ansem thanked the apprentices and left, leaving them to continue their experiment. Heading down the corridor, he came to a pair of ornate iron grills. Touching the crystal mounted on a pedestal beside him, Ansem opened the grills and stepped onto the lift behind them. Another crystal-topped pedestal was placed in the centre of the lift. Ansem touched the left side of the crystal. It crackled with electricity and the lift began to ascend on a line of pure energy. Ansem had deliberately designed the lifts to work without cables: designing the castle had been so much simpler when he didn't worry about crossing cables.

The lift moved left, then up again, into the wide, central lift shaft. Built of white marble and crisscrossed with dozens of twinkling blue energy cables, it was one of the most breathtaking sights in the castle. People waiting at lift stops waved to Ansem as he rose up past them.

Ansem's lift came to a halt outside the castle entrance hall. Skirting round the edge of the hall, he exchanged a few pleasantries with the guards and stepped quietly into the castle library. It was early afternoon and shafts of brilliant sunlight swept across the library from the large windows in the south wall. It was very quiet in here today: the weather was too good to spend the day closeted in study. Only a few dedicated scholars remained, shuffling tirelessly between the rows of bookcases. Ansem glanced round.

"Xehanort?" he called out "Xehanort? Where are you?"

"Behind you"

Ansem turned. There was no-one there.

"Or perhaps over here"

The voice was behind him again. Ansem turned. Still no-one. Ansem smiled.

"Xehanort, I have already told you: it is very rude to read someone's mind without their permission."

Ansem felt Xehanort trying to use his telepathy again, but blocked it.

"Alirght, have it your way. I'm coming down" came a voice from the upper level of the library.

Ansem heard footsteps and then Xehanort floated down over the edge, as if buoyed up by a strong wind.

"Xehanort" said Ansem, his stern tone only half serious "I have told you many times: power is not a toy to be used on a whim. You have been given great talent. Do not abuse it."

"Yes, master" said Xehanort, not a trace of shame on his handsome brown face.

"What are you doing in here?" asked Ansem "This is your day off."

"I know. I've been going through Mava's treatise on memory."

"Mava? I though you had already read that one?"

"I have" sighed Xehanort. A look of great weariness came over him

"I have read everything in here concerning memory. I thought, perhaps, I had missed something, but it appears I was wrong. I am still no closer…"

Ansem placed a fatherly hand on his apprentice's shoulder. For three years Xehanort had searched for a cure for his amnesia, but to no avail. No amount of meditation, introspection or hypnosis had yielded the slightest trace of his past.

"I think I may have a new line of inquiry you might wish to consider" Ansem said.

* * *

The two boys meandered along the path, kicking up little clouds of chalk dust as they walked. It was early evening and the sun was just disappearing over the treetops, streaking the sky with fire and gold. Birds were coming home to roost, filling the air with song. High above the park, the many-towered castle glowed dull red in the dusk.

"Where'd you want to go?" asked Cloud Strife.

"Don't care" shrugged Squall Leonheart, head down, shoulders hunched.

It was quite busy in the park that evening. People stopped by on their way home to meet, chat, or just admire the flowers. Cloud and Squall followed the path as it curved round an ornamental lake and up to a crossroads. A statute of a soldier was built in the centre. The face had been left completely featureless; a piece of smooth, uncut stone. The soldier's sword and rifle lay at his feet as he stood, staring out over the red slate roofs of the town and the countryside beyond.

"I always wondered why they put that up" said Cloud, thinking out loud "Why not have a real veteran, like Ansem or Sephiroth?"

"You've got Sephiroth on the brain" said Squall grumpily.

"Why not? He's cool" said Cloud with a shrug "But why not do one of him? He is a hero."

"My dad told me that's exactly what Ansem didn't want" Squall said, looking up at the statue "It's for everybody who fought, not just one guy."

"Whatever" said Cloud, flicking his golden fringe with the back of his hand "It just creeps me out, that's all."

The two boys passed the statue and began to wander aimlessly across the grass.

"You get your helmet fixed?" Cloud asked Squall.

"Yeah. Didn't take long" Squall replied.

"Sorry about that" Cloud said with a laugh.

It had happened last week. Now in their fourth and final term of the year, the freshman cadets at the Radiant Garden Training Corps had at long last been allowed to practice using real, albeit blunted, weapons. Cloud had got overexcited and, while sparring, had struck Squall as hard as he could with his sword, bending his helmet onto his head. It had taken him five minutes to prise it off.

"Don't sweat it" Squall said.

The boys continue to wander, now entering an area of widely spaced tress. The grass here was thick and spongy.

"You decided what weapon you're going to major in next year?" Cloud asked.

"I was thinking maybe gunblade" said Squall.

"Gunblade?" said Cloud "Isn't that one of those new, experiment-type weapons? Don't you have to do extra courses and stuff to do one of those?"

"Maybe" said Squall with another shrug "I suppose you'll do katana?"

Cloud reached up and scratched the back of his head.

"I dunno. I was thinking I might try out for buster sword. You know, like Colonel Zack uses?"

"Buster sword!" said Squall, surprised "That's like the hardest sword to use!"

"What, you don't think I'm up to it?!" demanded Cloud.

"I'm just saying" said Squall, not looking at Cloud

The two boys continued in silence.

"Why not katana?" said Squall at length "Sephiroth uses one"

"Yeah, but I like something with a bit more power behind it. Besides, my magic ain't that hot" Cloud explained.

"That's 'cause you don't practice"

"I got better things to do with my time than read spell books!" Cloud scoffed.

"Sephiroth can do it" Squall pointed out.

"Yeah but he's a legend" said Cloud

"Whatever. All I know is Strago's going to give you hell when he finds out you haven't done your magic prep"

"I'll bluff"

Squall gave Cloud a sceptical look but said nothing.

By now, the boys had reached the edge of the trees and were back on the path. They stopped, chatting awhile before going their separate ways.

"You going to the Crescent's tonight? It's an open house, apparently" asked Cloud.

"What about your job?"

"Ah, it doesn't matter. I'll phone in sick."

"You know, you'll never be able to afford that bike if you duck out all the time."

"Yes _mother_" said Cloud sardonically "It's only one night. So, I'll meet you at six?"

"Nah" Squall said, shaking his head "Don't feel like it."

"Sure, whatever" said Cloud, who was used to Squall anti-social moods. He turned to walk up the path but stopped when he realised Squall wasn't following him. Turning, he saw his friend walking in the opposite direction.

"Hey!" Cloud called "It's this way!"

"I'm taking the scene route" Squall called back over his shoulder.

"Would this scenic route happen to include General Caraway's house?" Cloud yelled back. Squall did not respond.

"Would this route happen to include a certain general's attractive daughter?" Cloud yelled again.

"Get bent" shouted Squall, not looking back. Cloud just laughed and turned to walk home.

* * *

Ansem stepped into the common room and looked around. The room was small and comfortable, filled with old leather armchairs. His apprentices were all there, as he had requested.

Braig, the eldest, was sitting with his feet up on a coffee table. Dilan, dark and tall, was leaning against the bookcase, staring at the floor. Even was sitting at a table by himself, his gaunt frame bent over a book open before him. Aeleus and Ienzo were shooting pool and chatting amiably.

However, Ansem's attention was immediately drawn to Xehanort, who was sitting perched on the edge of the chair opposite Braig. He was clicking his fingers, conjuring up little light spells and illusions with each click. Now beams of multicoloured light played between his finger tips, now a bird fluttered out, now a wave of green light, now a horse. It was a nervous habit of Xehanort's but that only made it more impressive. Ansem knew many mystics, all talented in their own way, who struggled to produce credible illusions. Yet here Xehanort was, doing it almost without thinking. In an experienced mystic it would be impressive; for an apprentice of three years it was literally incredible.

The apprentices had now noticed his arrival, risen and bowed.

"Do sit down" said Ansem. Ienzo and Aeleus left off their game and stood behind Braig's chair. Even closed his book with a barely concealed sigh of frustration and looked round. Once he was sure he had their attention, Ansem began:

"I have been greatly troubled over the recent events in Radiant Garden. No matter how hard we strive to create a better world, it seems darkness always lingers in people's hearts, waiting to bring disruption and chaos.

"To safeguard our people from this disruption, I propose to write a definitive report on the nature of the heart itself. If we can locate the source of this darkness, understand its nature, then we will be better equipped to combat it."

Braig let out a long whistle.

"That's a real tall order, master" he said.

"Indeed. But it must be accomplished: for the good of the Radiant Garden."

"How do propose we proceed, master?" asked Even, his eyes alight with almost maniacal curiosity.

"Considering the scale and depth of research that this project will require, all non-relevant work is to be put on hold. Our entire effort shall be concentrated on this, and this alone.

"This will certainly involve much experimentation. A study of this type is unprecedented: books will not get us far."

"Experimentation?" said Dilan in his soft, even voice "What form will this take?"

"The only accurate way to examine a heart is to examine it in its natural form: living and working."

There was a definite change in atmosphere in the room. His apprentices were giving Ansem some very serious looks.

"Living hearts, master?" said Aeleus, tentatively "Is that… wise?"

"I am fully aware of the ethical concerns surrounding experimentation of this nature" said Ansem "And I will of course not force you to participate in any aspect of the research you feel uncomfortable with."

"But still," said Ienzo "where will we find volunteers? We don't know the risks that they could be running."

"I have already found a volunteer" said Ansem "Xehanort?"

Xehanort looked round and gave the other apprentices a tense smile.

"Why?" asked Braig.

"I have spent three years searching for my lost memories. All my previous efforts have proven futile" Xehanort explained "Master Ansem believes, and I agree with him, that they may be locked away in my heart."

"And if we can unlock the secrets of the heart, we can recover them!" said Even, excitedly. His familiar look of scientific zeal was now becoming worryingly manic.

"That is my hope" said Xehanort.

"Ah, excellent" said Even, getting up "I believe there may be some medical equipment I could modify. I shall start research immediately…"

Ansem raised a hand to quieten him.

"Your enthusiasm is appreciated, Even" he said, smiling "but I think it best to begin with some simple psychological tests to get some preliminary data. If all goes well, who knows what may follow?"


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The lights in the laboratory were low. A bed, fitted with heavy, leather straps, was in the centre, bathed in a pool of bright light. The apprentices, dressed in crisp white lab coats, stood on the edge of the light. Their expressions were sombre, save for Even; the intensity in his narrow, pallid face was almost unnerving.

Ansem stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on Xehanort's shoulder.

"You are sure?" he asked.

Xehanort gave a slow nod. With deliberate care, he removed his shirt and lay down on the bed. Dilan and Aeleus stepped forward and, using the straps, bound Xehanort's legs, body and head.

"Even" Ansem said. Even stepped forward. He held two bundles of electrodes in his hands, their cables trailing off to a monitor, half-hidden in the corner of the room. Working together, Even and Ienzo fastened the electrodes to Xehanort's head and torso.

Ansem then moved over to the bedside and gestured to Braig, who was standing beside a small, box-shaped machine in the opposite corner. A long, thin arm extended from the top of the machine. On the end of the arm was fitted a three-toed silver instrument, like a foot. Braig stepped forward and guided the arm over to Ansem. Ansem took it from him and adjusted the silver instrument so that its 'toes' were spread out, like the petals of a sunflower.

"Is everything ready, Even?" Ansem asked. Even, who was watching the monitor in the far corner, nodded.

"Brace yourself," Ansem told Xehanort. Xehanort gave him a humourless smile. Ansem guided the arm down, until the 'foot' rested just about Xehanort's chest.

"Now, Braig" instructed Ansem, pressing the foot down firmly. Behind him, Braig activated the machine.

Xehanort screamed.

* * *

It was fencing practice in the training hall. The cadets were spread out in pairs across the tan linoleum floor. Their clashing weapons and squeaking footsteps echoed off the bare granite-stone walls. Corps senior swordmaster Auron patrolled the hall, offering rebukes and advice as the mood took him.

Cloud and Squall were near the centre of the hall. They were wearing standard fencing kit: white pants, padded jackets and gloves, with sturdy, lattice-work masks to protect their heads. They fought with blunted weapons: Cloud had a katana, Squall a sabre. They were circling each other now, preparing for the next attack.

It was Cloud who opened, stepping in close with a two-handed cut to Squall's left shoulder. Squall leant with the blow, turned the blade aside with the rounded guard of his own sword and then reached round to slash at Cloud's head. Cloud stepped back. The tip of Squall's sabre flicked past, a mere inch from his head. Raising his katana in two-hands, he stepped forward to bring it down in a straight cut on top of Squall's head. Squall punched up with his sabre guard. As Cloud's katana went up, his knee went straight forward into Squall's chest. Squall doubled over. Cloud stepped round, swinging for the back of Squall's neck. But Squall was too quick, driving his shoulder hard into Cloud's chest and bearing him to the ground.

"Cadet Strife! Cadet Leonheart!"

The grappling youths looked up. Auron was standing beside them, peering at them over the rim of his sunglasses.

"This is an exercise on how to defend with your sword" he said dryly.

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir" Squall said, getting to his feet.

"It was my fault, sir" explained Cloud.

"I know it was Strife," said Auron sharply "One demerit."

He turned away, the tails of his red greatcoat whipping across the back of his legs.

"You did hear him, right?" said Squall as they returned to en-garde position.

"Yeah, but in a real fight, it's no holds-barred" said Cloud, stepping back as Squall advanced.

"That's not the point of the exercise…" Squall sighed, stopping, forcing Cloud to move forward.

"Whatever. I can kick your butt either way" shrugged Cloud, slashing at Squall's legs. Squall knocked the attack aside and, closing in, aimed a neat cut to Cloud's neck. Cloud ducked and tried to thrust up at Squall's chest. Squall stepped back hastily, sabre held ready again.

"Alright, cadets." Auron shouted "That's it. Session's over."

"Good thing Auron called time" said Cloud, removing his mask. His usually immaculate blonde spikes were in disarray "Seeing how I was so close to beating you and all"

"Shut up" said Squall, smiling. The two boys argued good naturedly all the way back to the changing room about who was the better swordsman, Cloud making ridiculous boasts and Squall shooting them down with pithy quips.

Cloud's mood took a downturn as they left the changing room and began to walk towards The Grid for magic training; he had not practiced. Squall did not say anything but gave him a weary, 'I-told-you-so' look.

At the door, the two boys were joined by Tifa Lockheart, who was still wearing her karate gi. Her long brown hair was unkempt and she was rather red in the face. None of which stopped her looking rather fetching.

"Didn't have time to get changed" she explained as they walked out onto the tarmac path "That idiot Dincht wasn't paying attention and I kicked two of his teeth out by accident. I had to stay and make sure he was alright before I could leave."

"Zangan give you hell?" asked Cloud.

"Nah, it was Dincht he was mad at" laughed Tifa.

"You wanna hang out after training?" Squall asked.

"Can't, sorry" said Tifa "I promised Beclem I'd spend time with him"

"You still going with him?" asked Squall, a little surprised.

"Yeah" said Tifa, giving Cloud a wistful look that he completely missed.

The Grid was a large, oval area set beneath a crystalline dome, built next to the playing fields. Its floor was black and covered with a grid of thick, glowing white lines. The Grid created a magical dampening field that, while allowing the use of battle magic, prevented fatalities. A tiered stand was opposite the doorway. The large class of some thirty cadets were now seated there. At Cloud's insistence, the three friends climbed up to the back row where he hoped to hide for the remainder of the session. Strago Magus, the crusty, be-whiskered old magician who taught basic battle magic for the Training Corps, was at the foot of the stands.

"Good afternoon, cadets" the old man said, his voice magically amplified to fill the dome.

"Good afternoon, Master Magus" the cadets chorused back.

"This afternoon, we will begin using a training technique that you will have not yet encountered: pure magical combat."

Several students, including Cloud, let out a groan.

"I am aware," continued Strago "that this will be more difficult for some of you than others. Few indeed are those who can master martial, as well as magical, combat. But, there may come a time when the success of your mission, indeed, your very survival, may rest upon your skill with the mystic arts."

Cloud's attention soon began to drift as Strago lectured the class on the precise details and forms of magical combat. Movement from the entrance to the grid, behind Sago, caught his eye. To his surprise, he saw Rinoa Heartilly walk onto the grid. She was dressed in her school uniform: a plaid skirt, white shirt and dark blue blazer, and was carrying her school bag over one arm. Angelo, her pet dog and inseparable companion, was at her heel. Cloud was about to elbow Squall to attract his attention, when another girl followed Rinoa through the entrance. Dressed in the same uniform, she had long brown hair, a slender figure and, even from this distance, Cloud could see that she was beautiful.

"Hey, Squall" Tifa hissed, digging him in the ribs and nodding at Rinoa "Look who it is!"

Squall took one look at the entrance, flushed crimson, and quickly fixed his attention on Strago.

"Who's that with her?" Tifa asked Cloud.

"Err… what? No idea" said Cloud, shaking his head.

"Ah" said Strago, turning round "This, students, is Miss Aerith Gainsborough."

The brown haired girl gave a shy wave.

"Although she is still too young to enter the Corps, she will be joining us for today's session. I have rarely encountered such prodigious talent in white magic" Strago explained "I have been working very closely with Miss Gainsborough to develop her talents, but we both agree that my tutoring can only take her so far. Therefore, she will now be joining our classes on a regular basis."

There was much muttering amongst the students.

"She's just a kid" snorted Tifa, but neither of the boys was listening. Squall was busy avoiding looking across the grid and Cloud was too busy staring.

"Now I realise this is highly unusual" said Strago, raising his hands for silence "But Miss Gainsborough has exceptional talent. Err… perhaps a demonstration?"

Strago scanned the students. His eye settled on Cloud, who was slightly red in the face and leaning forward to get a better view of the new girl.

"Cadet Strife, if you would be so good?" said Strago, gesturing to the centre of the grid. Cloud stood up and descended the stands, more than a little apprehensive. He was worried: Aerith didn't look very strong at all. Besides, beating them up wasn't exactly his favourite way to pull girls.

"Miss Heartilly, please take a seat" said Strago.

Cloud and Rinoa passed each other in the middle of the grid.

"Don't worry" said Rinoa, in a voice that easily carried up to the back of the stand "She won't hurt you"

Cloud bridled at that. He could hear some of the cadets laughing behind him. Any concerns he had had for Aerith were quickly forgotten.

"Stand there, and there" Strago instructed, positioning Cloud and Aerith a good twenty feet apart.

"Begin programme seventeen" Strago said. The grid shimmered under their feet. When it cleared, two circles, four feet in diameter, had appeared around Cloud and Aerith's feet.

"In this exercise, the aim is to battle with one's magical skills alone. As such, your movement is restricted to the confines of these circles" Strago explained "Setting even one foot outside these circles will result in instant disqualification."

Strago stepped back and rolled up the sleeves of his robe. Raising his skeletal, blue veined arms to the ceiling, he spoke in a clear voice:

"Cadets, stand ye ready?"

They nodded. Cloud spread his legs apart, holding his elbows close to his body and his forearms horizontal.

"Begin" said Strago, bringing his arms down to his side.

"Fire!" Cloud cried, thrusting his elbows back. A tiny dot of flame appeared in the air before him, blossomed and streaked, like a fiery lance, across the grid.

"Reflect" Aerith said, calmly raising a hand. The spell struck an invisible shield a foot from her hand, flared and shot straight back at Cloud. Acting on instinct, Cloud dropped and rolled aside. A siren blared as the grid flashed red.

"Cadet Strife, you must remain _within the circle_" snapped Strago.

"Sorry, sir" Cloud muttered angrily. More laughter descended from the stand.

"Stand ye ready?" asked Strago "Then… begin!"

"Fire!" Cloud cried, sending another fireball streaking towards Aerith.

"Reflect" she said, completely unflustered. The spell struck and rebounded, but this time Cloud was ready.

"Blizzard!" he cried, pumping his elbows again. A large chunk of ice appeared in the air before him. The fire spell struck it and the two exploded in a shower of flaming slush. There was a light smattering of applause from the stand. Cloud flicked his fringe cockily.

"Very good" said Strago "Continue"

"Thunder!" cried Cloud, testing to see which spells Aerith had the most trouble with. The lightning bolt shot across the grid, was reflected and rebounded. Cloud panicked: he didn't know the counter for a thunder spell.

"Blo – " he began, but he was too late. The bolt shattered his poorly constructed shield, struck him full in the chest and knocked him from his feet. The cadets roared with laughter.

"Very good, Aerith, very good" Cloud heard Strago saying.

"And that, Cadet" the master said, "is why you should work on your magic!"

"But it's not fair, sir" said Cloud, climbing to his feet "In a real fight, I wouldn't have given her the chance to hit me!"

"That, Strife, is immaterial" said Strago, but Cloud persisted.

"I could take her out in a couple of seconds if I had a sword!" he protested.

"Care to try?" said Aerith, a confident smile on her face.

"Bring it on," said Cloud, flicking his fringe again.

"Very well" sighed Strago. Extending his hand, he summoned a kendo stick from a rack mounted on the wall.

"Be very careful" he said to Cloud as he handed him the stick.

"Don't worry, I'm only gonna tap her" Cloud said.

"Begin programme two" said Strago. The circles on the floor disappeared.

"Stand ye ready?" asked Strago. Cloud dropped into en-guard. Aerith put one hand on her hip.

"Then… begin!"

Cloud crossed the grid in a matter of seconds. Raising the stick, he gave a weak, over-the-shoulder swing, aiming to tap Aerith on the shoulder. Aerith just raised up left hand. There was a clear, ringing note as the stick struck an invisible, curved shield centred on her hand. Cloud flicked the tip of the stick back and aimed for her right side. Aerith's right hand shot out to create another barrier. Cloud tried to step round her, but she proved just as nimble as him. Frustrated, Cloud launched a flurry of blows all across her body. The girl didn't even need to use her hands: it was like she was wrapped in an invisible cocoon.

Breathing hard, Cloud paused to consider his next move. To his surprise, Aerith lent forward and patted him on the cheek. Cloud stood dumbstruck as she winked at him and turned back to the stand, where the cadets were now howling with laughter. Crimson faced, Cloud let out a growl of frustration and lashed out at the back of Aerith's head. Aeirth turned, screamed and threw her hands out to protect herself. The force of the spell made the kendo stick rebound and strike Cloud in the forehead.

Cloud was only out for a few seconds. When he came round, he was lying on his back, looking up at the dome. He could hear the roar of the cadets' laughter. There was blood on his face. He could hear someone shouting:

"Don't laugh at him! Oh, grow up!"

Aerith's face appeared above him. There were tears in her eyes.

"I am _so_ sorry" she said, brushing his loose hair away from his face "It was an accident; you just startled me that's all"

Cloud winced as she pressed her fingers onto the cut on his forehead.

"Hold still" she said. She murmured something under her breath and Cloud felt warmth travel right through his body, like a hot bath on a winter's night. When she removed her fingers, the cut was gone.

Strago coughed.

"If we're quite finished with the dramatics, Aerith, perhaps you'd like to take a seat and watch the other cadets?" he said. Aerith gave Cloud a smile and walked away. Cloud, red faced with shame now, scrambled to his feet and headed swiftly for the back row of the stand.

* * *

The door to the common room opened. Dilan and Aeleus entered, supporting Xehanort between them. Ienzo pushed up a chair for him.

"How is he?" he asked as they gently lowered Xehanort into the chair.

"I'm fine" said Xehanort, his voice low "Give me a drink. Something strong"

Ansem and Even entered the room. They were both examining long reams of computer paper and looking puzzled.

"These readings are… challenging" said Even, thumbing through the printout.

"They look totally random" said Braig closing the door behind Even.

"No, there is a pattern" said Ansem, his orange eyes alight with enthusiasm.

"Look," he said, pointing excitedly to a set of readings "Look. As regular as clockwork: it's Xehanort's heartbeat!"

"But what does that tell us?" Ienzo asked, handing Xehanort a large glass of brandy.

"It means we have a foundation to build upon" explained Ansem "We have a constant to measure against. From this, I can devise a whole programme of experimentation."

"What about Xehanort?" asked Braig "Suppose he don't wanna go through that again?"

"No… It's alright" said Xehanort, the brandy giving his voice a little more strength "It wasn't _too_ bad."

"Do you remember anything?" Even asked Xehanort, squatting down to look him in the eye. Xehanort stared into the bottom of his glass.

"No…" he said at length "Nothing. Nothing at all."

"Courage, my apprentice" said Ansem cheerfully, clapping him on the shoulder "This is only the beginning! We have a long way to travel yet."

"I don't think we'll be able to travel very far" said Ienzo.

"Why do you say that?" asked Ansem.

"Our facilities are inadequate" said Ienzo.

"They've served you well enough before now" said Ansem.

"But, master, consider the scale of the research ahead of us," Ienzo continued "What about any specimens we might collect? New machinery we may require? These chambers were designed to house you alone, not seven of us!"

Ansem cupped his chin in his hand.

"Let me think on it" he said.

* * *

_Author's note:_

_Hi all! Just a quick note asking you to review and let me know what you like, what you don't, what you'd like changed or what you'd like to see in future chapters._


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"He did what?!"

"I don't think he meant to do it on purpose" Squall said with a laugh "He just saw red. Next moment, he's on his back with a bloody nose!"

Laguna laughed again as he entered the dining room, a dish of steaming vegetables in his hands. The dark wood table was set for two. It was nothing fancy: a well-done steak, piles of potatoes and a mound of vegetables. Laguna set the dish down, dropped his apron over the back of his chair and sat down opposite his son.

"Was Cloud alright?" he asked, spooning out the vegetables.

"Oh yeah" said Squall with a smile "Aerith patched him up. I heard Strago say it was one of the neatest cures he'd ever seen."

"She is a remarkable girl" said Laguna.

"How do you know?" asked Squall

"We keep in touch with the academy, ask them to tell us anything unusual about any of the students" explained Laguna, without a trace of embarrassment.

"Is there _anybody_ you don't keep tabs on?" sighed Squall.

"I don't need to keep tabs on everybody, not with you bringing me all the gossip off the street" said Laguna with a teasing smile.

"I don't tell you everything"

"You tell me more than you think you do"

Squall gave his father a disbelieving look, but said nothing. They ate in silence for a moment. Laguna spoke without looking up from his steak:

"How did Tifa react when Cloud got hit?"

"What? Why'd you ask that?" said Squall

"She's crushing on him, isn't she?" said Laguna, matter-of-fact as ever.

"Yeah… but, how'd…" Squall spluttered for a moment

"You _are_ having me followed" he said accusingly. Laguna just laughed

"I don't need to! I can tell just from the way you talk about her: what she says, what she doesn't say, what she does. It's pretty simple, once you know the trick."

"She's going with Beclem" said Squall, as if that settled the matter.

"Ah, come off it Squall" Laguna said "She'd drop him in a moment to be with Cloud, you know that!"

"Whatever" Squall said, returning to his meal.

"Has Cloud decided what he's going to train for next year?" asked Laguna, after a pause.

"Dunno" shrugged Squall "I'm guessing he'll go for officer, probably infantry. He's a good rider too, so maybe a knight. He wants to make general someday, that's all I know."

"And what about you? You still set on becoming a knight?"

"Yes dad" droned Squall, rolling his eyes.

"I just want you to consider all your options" said Laguna patiently.

"Dad, for the last time, I don't want to become a cop"

"I only want you to think about it"

"Dad, we've been through this before…"

"You'd only need to spend a year on the beat, maybe not even that! I could transfer you to the Turks inside of eight months…"

"Dad, I'm going to become a soldier."

"Why, when there's no-one left to fight?! I can tell you right now there's nothing glamorous about soldier life. I was one for eight years, remember."

"And sneaking round in blue suits, spying on people, is?"

Laguna stopped, stared and then fell back into his chair laughing. Squall watched his father, bemused.

"What's so funny?"

"You look _exactly_ like your mother when you get mad like that" Laguna chuckled "In fact, that's how she looked at me the first time we met!"

Squall gave a half-sad little smile and concentrated on clearing the table.

"Dad," he said, from the kitchen "how _did_ you and mom meet?"

Laguna pressed his hand to the side of his head as he sank back into his chair.

"I was on leave," he said "I was in… my fourth year of service, so I was still a lieutenant. My regiment was stationed on the peninsula, guarding the supply ports.

"It was a Saturday night. Kiros and Ward dragged me to this… night club, I think. I wasn't too keen I guess. They were hitting on everything in a skirt. Actually, I think Ward tried to use a line on a guy… but he was pretty loaded by then!

I tried to leave after about an hour, and walked into her. She's was coming out the bathroom, I spilled a drink all over her. I apologised. She said she was dazzled by the uniform."

Laguna laughed softly to himself.

"She used to tell people that that was the only reason she married me. Still dazzled by the uniform! Why'd you ask son?"

But Squall gave no reply, concentrating on the washing up.

* * *

Deep beneath his castle, Ansem was standing before a great computer, blazing with lights. Behind him, Xehanort, Even and Aeleus were grouped around a large beaker, filled with a blue preservative liquid. Crackling lines of electricity swam through the preservative to a glowing white heart, floating in the centre. Each apprentice was operating a small, intricate metal instrument, constantly modifying and adjusting the trails of electricity. Ienzo stood apart from the group, hastily noting down every adjustment made, on a clipboard.

"Keep the flow steady, Aeleus" Ansem said. Codes raced across the computer monitors, criss-crossing over complicated meters and graphs.

"Try to go deeper, Even" Ansem instructed, fingers clattering on the keyboard. Warning lights began to flash on some of the monitors.

"I can't keep the breach stable!" said Xehanort

"Look!" said Ienzo, looking up from his clipboard and pointing to the monitor "There – it's the darkness. We're getting the same readings as before!"

Ansem's fingers were a blur. On the monitors, a single line of code enlarged to fill all the screens. A pulse reading appeared above it: it was fluctuating wildly.

"We must go deeper!" shouted Xehanort. In the beaker, the surface of the heart was bubbling like liquid magma.

"No! We don't know what the consequences could be!" replied Ansem "It'll stabilise itself, I'm sure of it!"

The lines of electricity split into thousands of tiny individual streams. The heart was no longer recognisable – now it was as thin as a rod, now as flat as a sheet of paper.

"Back!" yelled Xehanort, leaping away.

The glass cracked and collapsed, spilling the blue liquid across the floor. The heart had vanished.

"Now do you believe me?" Even asked Ansem angrily "We can't stabilise it from the outside, not once it's been breached! Either we go in, or we stay out. There's no middle ground."

"We could probably stabilise a human heart" Aeleus said grumpily "Using cats' hearts is - "

"Ethical, my apprentice" said Ansem sternly "I appreciate your eagerness, but I could not live with the knowledge that I had destroyed your heart."

"Use my heart" Xehanort said earnestly "I don't care about the pain. If I'm going to recover my memories – "

"No, Xehanort" Ansem said firmly "I will not risk using a person's heart, not until we have explored the limits of this line of experimentation. That is my final word."

With that, Ansem turned and swept out of the laboratory, hands firmly clasped behind his back and his expression stern.

Xehanort stood, chest heaving, glowering after him. With a scream, he turned to the workbench beside him and hurled an empty beaker to the floor.

"Great, more for me to clear up(!)" said Aeleus, stomping off to the closet to find a broom.

"And I shall begin filing these _fascinating_ new results (!)" said Even, sarcastically. Taking the clipboard from Ienzo, he logged onto the computer and began the process of updating the database.

Xehanort, still fuming, stood by the railing overlooking the cavern. The underground facility was not yet half constructed and the far end of the laboratory opened out onto a vast cave of dark stone. Down at the bottom of the cavern Braig and Dilan could be seen monitoring the holographic construction programme, as it laid the foundations for the rest of the laboratory.

Ansem had expanded ENCOM's original design to create an extraordinarily complicated automated computer system, which effectively ran the town's basic systems. The holographic, hard-light construction tools that were being used to build the laboratory were merely part of the latest upgrade.

Ienzo was beside Xehanort now, leaning his back against the railing.

"I could try and talk him round… " Ienzo suggested.

"No. He won't listen. Not this time" said Xehanort, his silver hair glittering in the floodlights.

"He's getting cautious in his old age" Ienzo said "Not how he used to be."

Xehanort turned round, a curious look on his face.

"Used to be? How long _have_ you known him for?"

"Most of my life" said Ienzo "I was nine when he found me on the refugee trail, although I don't remember much about it. It was in the last days of the war… our wagon train got caught in the path of a bunch of monsters fleeing from the army, or so they told me. By the time Ansem arrived, it was all over. I was the only survivor.

"My parents were upfront when the wagon got tipped. They were killed, but I was inside, got knocked out. The monsters didn't bother searching the wagons: there were enough people in the open for them."

"Do you remember much about your parents?" asked Xehanort.

"No. I can barely remember their faces" said Ienzo with a shrug "I don't remember much before Ansem adopted me, really. Apart from the fear. We were always afraid. Because we were weak. That's why I stayed on to become Ansem's apprentice; so I could be strong, like him."

"At least you have those memories" said Xehanort with a sigh "They made you what you are. Who made me? How did I become the man I am?"

Ienzo was watching him intently out of the corner of his eye, but Xehanort did not notice.

"What was my life like... before? Did I have a life before?" he continued, his voice growing softer and more thoughtful.

"Are you sure you want to find out?" asked Ienzo "It may not have been a happy life."

Xehanort turned back to face him, a new determination in his deep brown eyes.

"But then at least I will know. I have to know."

Straightening up, he turned towards the door. He spoke to Ienzo without looking back. His voice was low and serious:

"Meet me here, at midnight. I will tell the others. Do not speak of this to anyone, not even our master. We must go on alone for now, if we are to understand this darkness."

* * *

Xehanort was aware of it the moment he woke. Something cold, deep in his chest. It was tiny, no bigger than a pebble, but it burned like ice. It felt strange, alien, and yet wholly familiar, like a well-loved place revisited long after one's memories had faded.

It was only then that Xehanort realised he couldn't breath.

He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids were too heavy. His limbs burned as he tried to move. Panic began to take hold. Xehanort tried to scream, but it was as if his lips were locked shut.

Now he felt hands on his face, inching his jaws apart. The lip of a bottle was forced between his teeth and a hot liquid slipped down his throat. He felt the warmth spread down to his chest and he took one long, ecstatic breath. The warmth continued to travel into his limbs. His hearing was returning now. He could hear voices now, and the throb of machinery, as if from a great distance away.

"He's coming round!"

"Good"

"That could've got real nasty, Even"

"I stabilised the breach, didn't I?"

"He'll live. That's enough"

Xehanort's eyes opened. The initial white blur quickly faded and the pale, concerned faces of the other apprentices appeared, looking down at him.

"Good thing someone thought to bring an elixir" he said, with a grim smile.

"Just a precaution" said Aeleus, moodily. Of all the apprentices, he had been the least comfortable with experimenting behind Ansem's back.

"Do you remember anything?" asked Even, his clipboard already in his hands.

"I feel fine, thank you Even" said Xehanort as Dilan helped him to sit up.

"Do you remember anything?" Even repeated. He had the familiar, zealous look in his eyes again. Xehanort shook his head.

"Nothing before I woke in the castle"

Even sighed irritably and made a note on his clipboard.

"What happened?" Xehanort asked.

"Well, we managed to set up the probes easy enough" said Braig, who was leaning casually against the computer "Took us what felt like forever to make a breach. Workin' on living hearts is much tougher than usin' stuff in jars."

"We made a clean breach, and then Aeleus entered his probe" said Dilan, calm and matter-of-fact "We took some exceptional readings but your heart soon began to show signs of great stress."

"Collapse is what it nearly did" said Braig.

"The darkness was reaching levels that we thought unsafe, so we pulled out" explained Ienzo.

"Even re-sealed the breach" said Aeleus "You nearly died."

Xehanort nodded gravely.

"It felt like it" he agreed.

"How do you feel now?" asked Ienzo

Xehanort considered this for a moment. He did not feel much different, apart from a little tired. But then, there was that feeling he'd noticed. The tiny, pin prick of cold in his chest. What was it? It didn't hurt. In fact it felt… good. Yes. Very good. What was it? Could this be the darkness they had been searching for?

"I feel… good" said Xehanort at length.

"I am glad" said Aeleus sternly "I hope you leave these experiments now. It is dangerous."

"No!" said Xehanort, a little sharper than he intended.

"No" he repeated, softer now, "We must continue. We must find out what this darkness is. We can't go back now; we're too far in."

"You were lucky this time, Xehanort" said Dilan "How many times can you be lucky again? Are your memories worth dying for?"

"No…" said Xehanort thoughtfully "No, we must refine the process before we practice on ourselves again."

"So we return to animals?" suggested Aeleus.

Xehanort shook his head.

"We need people. We can bring them here: use their hearts instead."

Xehanort looked around. Braig and Dilan looked thoughtful. Aeleus's expression was grim. Even appeared interested. Ienzo was unreadable, as always.

"Suppose they die –" Aeleus ventured.

"What is one life?!" yelled Xehanort "If we don't succeed, this darkness could swallow the whole world! What is one life against the lives of millions?"

Xehanort felt the ice in his chest grow a little more. It was a good feeling.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Ansem sighed and massaged his eyes with the palms of his hands. This proclamation was taking longer than he had anticipated. He bent over the keyboard again, brow creased in concentration.

It was Sunday and, as the cats' hearts continued to yield no fresh data, he had given his apprentices the day off. As such he was alone in the now-complete laboratory. Ansem had to admit he was a little stunned by the size and complexity to which the facility had grown. When they had begun construction, he had envisioned little more than an enlarged version of their old rooms. Now they possessed a series of vast steel halls, packed with technological marvels. The central computer terminal, at which he now stood, overlooked the whole laboratory.

Ansem shook his head and re-read what he had just typed:

"To the people of Radiant Garden. Ten years ago, a great victory was won: the beast known as 'Weapon' was slain and its monstrous brood driven from our lands. The death of Weapon brought our long war to an end. To mark this anniversary, and the coming of peace to our world, I proclaim three days of celebration, to be held at the end of this month: beginning the day Weapon fell. More details will follow. Signed, Ansem."

Ansem gave a satisfied nod. Using the computer, he accessed the town's public news-boards and uploaded the message. He knew that it would only be a matter of hours before everyone in the surrounding country, never mind the town, knew about the celebrations.

That done, Ansem placed the computer on standby and left the laboratory. He was glad the message was finally posted: it left him the whole afternoon to work on his Report.

"So there I am, just comin' out the mess tent and Auron here comes rushin' up the hill"

Jecht paused taking a swig from the bottle in front of him.

"And he's… ha ha! He's _butt naked_. Not a stitch on him!"

Jecht collapsed back into his chair, guffawing at the top of his voice. Auron, who was sitting across from him, stared stoically at the wall above Jecht's head.

"And… he's… he's waving his sword about like a damn flag!" Jecht continued, "O' course, by now, half the camp's lookin' on now. I swear, you coulda' heard us laughin' a mile away!"

"I didn't have time to grab my towel" said Auron, his voice stiff with restraint.

"And didn't we know it!" laughed Jecht, slapping the table and taking another swig from his bottle.

"So anyway, we're all laughin' our heads off when suddenly _wham_, there's Weapon comin' over the crest of the hill! Turned out, he and Auron had picked the same swimmin' hole. Ha! I suppose Weapon wanted to get his towel down there first!"

The other drinkers in the bar smiled politely. They could all quote the story word for word.

"So Auron dives inta my tent an' starts rummagin' around for some pants" Jecht continued "O' course, by this time, I've got _my_ sword and I'm halfway to Weapon already. Now, this was _before_ he swallowed the Nethicite, so he only had one head. So I climbed up his back and…"

"I think we know how this story ends"

Heads turned. The mystic, Braska, slender and noble of feature, was standing in the doorway. He was dressed in a simple robe of dark crimson. He carried a plain staff of white wood.

"People can get bored of hearing the same tale told over again, even a good one" he said, a playful smile on his face "How about you tell them the one about how we met?"

"Yeah, we ain't heard that one! Come on. Tell us Jecht!" cried the drinkers.

"Ah, they wouldn't be interested in that one…" said Jecht, avoiding Braska's gaze.

"Alright, I'll tell it" said Braska, drawing up a chair and sitting next to Auron, who was now wearing a small, yet immensely satisfied smile.

"It was the height of the war" Braska began, as the others drinkers moved in a little closer "Auron and I had been travelling together for about two years. We were being transferred to the fourth division in the east, along with a few hundred mobile reserves.

"We had been marching for a week when we came down out of the mountains. As we were descending to the river below, Auron spotted something in the sky, flying towards us. At first we thought it was a monster but someone noticed that it was flying against the wind.

"As it got closer, we saw that it was an airship. Now at that time, they were still experimental technology. You heard horror stories of the things catching fire and the like. Only lunatics volunteered to work on them."

"There were plenty of them around" said Auron dryly. Several old soldiers amongst the drinkers chuckled.

"Anyway, by the time we were halfway down the mountain it was close enough to make out the propellers and such, so we didn't pay it much attention. We were turning off the trail towards the ford when someone pointed out that it was rocking back and forth, like a boat caught in a storm.

"So we stopped and watched. By now, the ship was listing so hard it was nearly on its side. In a couple of seconds, it had gone into a tailspin and was diving towards the river. For a moment I thought it would be a straight nosedive, but it somehow managed to level off a little and ploughed along the riverbed.

"Auron and I were already galloping down to the ford, you understand, with all the chocobomen we had right behind us. We reached the bank just as the first fuel tank blew up, shooting fire into the sky. Auron didn't even stop to dismount: he just dived right out of the saddle and into the water. It was the stupidest I'd ever seen in my life."

There was much chuckling and admiring looks from the other drinkers. Auron continued to stare at the wall as if he couldn't hear Braska.

"The rest of us dismounted and were struggling to get our boots off, when Auron climbed back onto the bank dragging Jecht behind him. He wasn't fully conscious but you could smell the whisky on him from ten yards away."

"He was drunk?!" laughed the barman. The other drinkers roared.

"Drunk _at the wheel_" shouted Braska over the growing laughter "He was piloting the ship when it went down!"

At this point the bar erupted, Jecht laughing loudest of all. Even Auron joined in, chuckling quietly under his breath.

"That story's certainly worth a free drink" chuckled the barman "Nettle wine, like always?"

"Please" said Braska. The other drinkers, still grinning, turned back to their own conversations, leaving the three old friends alone at their table.

"Ah, guess I had that comin'" said Jecht, his white grin standing out sharply in his dark face "So, how's the healin' business treatin' you, Braska?"

"It's steady" said Braska "Steady and quiet: just as I like it. How's life in the Training Corps?"

"It ain't too bad" shrugged Jecht, readjusting his red bandana "New freshman class is shapin' up real nice. Got a coupla wise guys but --"

"Strife and Leonheart?" said Auron.

"Yeah" nodded Jecht "They're good. Best we've had in a long time, but they're cocky as hell."

"Strife especially" said Auron.

"He's gonna take some mouldin', that one" agreed Jecht.

The barman brought over Braska's nettle wine and set it down in front of him. He gave Auron a disapproving look: Auron never drank except out of the bottle of nog he kept at his hip. The barman resented the loss of profits but Auron was so widely respected that he did not dare challenge him on the issue.

"Where's Ruby?" Braska asked the barman, looking around for the regular barmaid.

"No idea" shrugged the barman "Probably sleeping off a hangover or something. She wasn't in yesterday, either. I'll be taking it out of her cheque if she doesn't turn up tomorrow."

"You got your letter from Ansem?" Jecht asked the other two as the barman turned to leave.

"Yes. Apparently we are to be part of a parade" said Braska as he sipped his wine thoughtfully.

"You are with us?" said Auron "In Ansem's retinue?"

"Yeah" said Jecht, a little disappointed.

"What's wrong?" asked Braska.

"Nuthin. It's just that I thought that maybe I'd be with my old gang: y' know, Aeleus an' all that."

"You think a gang of bandits would fit in well with a military parade?" asked Auron dryly.

"Hey, we fought monsters, same as you!" protested Jecht.

"And robbed anyone you came across! You even kidnapped Ansem, for goodness sakes!" laughed Braska.

"I suppose Aeleus will be with Ansem on the day?" said Auron.

"Dunno" shrugged Jecht "We don't talk much. Kinda lost contact after the gang split up. I went with you guys, he stuck with Ansem."

"It still surprises me that he stayed on as an apprentice" mused Braska.

"He takes his oaths real seriously. Ansem saved his life, y'know" said Jecht.

"I saved yours" Auron pointed out with a wry grin "Why didn't you swear to protect me(?)"

"'Cause I ain't getting tied down to an' ol' grouch like you!" laughed Jecht, downing the last of his bottle.

* * *

The officers' gym was busy that afternoon. News of the up-coming parade and ball had sparked a rush of people desperately trying to get in better shape. Zack didn't really mind: he liked the buzz of frantic activity but he could tell Sephiroth resented the company.

"What is the point of trying to get in shape in two weeks?" he asked grumpily "It won't make any real difference."

"Just… try… to… ignore… them" said Zack as he struggled on the bench press.

"I think I might hand in my membership card," said Sephiroth sourly.

"What? And… go… back… to… training in the… woods?"

"Why not? At least it's quiet."

Zack sat up and wiped himself down with his towel.

"What's up with you?" he asked, his spikes of black hair plastered over his brow. Sephiroth shrugged and avoided his gaze.

"Nah, seriously, what could _you_ have to moan about?" Zack continued as he stood up to let Sephiroth use the bench press.

"You're going to be at the top of the bill for this parade. The great war hero: Sephiroth. Man, the chicks are going to be lining up for you!"

"There are more important things," said Sephiroth, his long white arms rising and falling with little visible effort.

"I suppose" Zack laughed

"What were you lifting?" Sephiroth asked. Zack lent down behind the bench to check.

"About a hundred fifty kilo"

"Stick another one fifty on"

Zack whistled between his teeth and began piling the weights on.

"_That's_ better," said Sephiroth, as he pulled on the handle again. Zack fancied he could almost see the muscles straining beneath Sephiroth's pale skin.

"So, come on, what's up?" Zack said, "We're living in a golden age, man. And we helped make it possible. It's everything we fought for, isn't it?"

"Not everything" said Sephiroth, under his breath.

"What? You're not still mad about _that? _Are you?" asked Zack; a little surprised that Sephiroth could be so vain.

"I'm not in the mood, Zack," said Sephiroth, a note of warning in his voice.

"Look, it was Ansem's decision" said Zack reasonably "Why can't you just accept it? They don't call him Ansem the Wise for nothing, you know?"

"Ansem the Proud would be a better name," said Sephiroth, sitting up. There was real anger in his voice now.

"He did it for the good of the Garden, not to spite you!" said Zack "Surely you can see why: having three generals is safer than just one!"

"In other words, he doesn't trust me," said Sephiroth "He didn't then, either."

"Perhaps because he knew this is how you would react!" Zack snapped.

Sephiroth sighed. Draping his towel over his shoulders, he crossed the gym to the water cooler. Zack followed, a concerned look on his face.

"Sorry," he said, avoiding Zack's gaze again "It's just… this anniversary brought back memories. You know, in a strange way, I miss those days?"

"Me too," said Zack, giving Sephiroth's shoulder a companionable squeeze "Don't sweat it. I understand."

"I never was good at sharing, was I?" said Sephiroth, with a smile. Zack returned the smile and said nothing.

"So, are you racing tonight?" Sephiroth asked as they made their way over to the rowing machines.

"Yeah, I think I am," said Zack with a slight frown "Thing is, I haven't heard anything from Billy. He usually calls me a few days before the race, to check when I need the bird, you know? I suppose I can swing by the ranch after I'm done here…"

* * *

Cloud and Squall rounded the corner and began to descend the broad steps. The sun was long gone and the streets of Radiant Garden were awash with garish neon light. Below them, backing onto the high stone wall, the stadium shone in the darkness. Spotlights waved in the sky above, while the walls flashed and glowed with advertisements. Even from where they stood on the steps, the boys could hear the hum of the crowd inside.

The space around the stadium was all but deserted: only a few of knots of young people remained, waiting for their friends. They smiled and waved when they saw the two boys. Squall ignored them and kept his head down but Cloud waved back, winking at the girls and flicking his fringe. Stories of his 'accident' last week had circulated to every youth in the city but Cloud's popularity and laid-back attitude had long-since dispelled any trace of embarrassment.

Squall tapped Cloud's shoulder. Tifa, wearing a dark mini-skirt and brown jacket, was leaning against the wall by the stadium entrance. Her arms were folded and there was that familiar, dangerous look in her eye.

"Beclem stood you up?" Cloud asked as they approached. Tifa nodded angrily.

"I was thinking of dropping him after tonight but now I'm _definitely_ going to!" she said, face flushed.

"You called him, I suppose?" said Squall.

"'Course" said Tifa "Just this minute. His mom said she hadn't seen him all day…"

"Ah, his loss" said Cloud, with a shrug "You want to hang with us?"

"Sure" said Tifa, a little too brightly for a girl who had just been stood up.

The three friends turned and walked into the tunnel that led to the stands. They were halfway between the street and the ticket booths when someone accosted them from the shadows.

"Hey kid, wanna make this interesting?"

The man who stepped into the light was very tall, very slender and incredibly handsome. He wore a black great-coat draped over his shoulders. His expertly sculpted silver hair framed a shrewd, fine featured face.

"Who're you?" asked Cloud, but Squall spoke before the stranger could reply.

"I _thought_ I saw your ship in the air dock" he said, regarding the stranger suspiciously.

"You know him?" said Cloud.

"Setzer Gabbiani at your service, gentlemen" said Setzer, making a slight bow.

"Master Zangan warned us about you" said Tifa, a note of contempt in her voice "You're a professional gambler, right? You operate an illegal casino out of your airship, don't you?"

Setzer turned to Tifa and gave her what was obviously meant to be a disarming smile. When this failed to melt her stare, he took her by the arm and turned her toward the ticket booths.

"Why don't you go and powder your nose or something and leave the men-talk to us, huh babe?" Setzer said smoothly, giving her a slap on the butt for good measure. For a moment Tifa was too stunned to move, giving Squall time to get between her and Setzer.

"Leave it, he's not worth it" he said through gritted teeth, wrestling with Tifa to make her lower her fist. Setzer just shrugged and turned his attention to Cloud.

"How 'bout you? You look like a kid who knows how to have a good time. I can give you the best odds you'll find in this whole city."

"_Illegal_?" said Cloud, addressing Squall over Setzer's shoulder.

"Technically not" said Setzer, with a sly grin "You see, gambling is only illegal on city _land_. And as the _Blackjack_'s an airship…"

"Listen, get out of here or we'll call security" said Squall, squaring up to Setzer. Setzer chuckled and stepped round him to speak to Cloud again.

"How 'bout a bet on the anniversary races? Word is Dilan might be coming out of retirement for one last race. Three to one says he is. How about it?"

But Setzer was cut off in mid-flow by Tifa's piercing whistle. Cloud and Squall turned to see a security guard approaching from the ticket booths. When they turned back, Setzer had vanished.

"You weren't seriously considering taking him up, were you?" Squall asked Cloud as they made their way up into the stands.

"'Course not" said Cloud casually, tossing his fringe.

"Hey, _Squall_" said Tifa mischievously, digging him in the ribs and nodding up the stairs. Squall looked up and blushed: Rinoa Heartilly, looking very fetching in a powder blue coat, was walking down towards them. Squall quickly turned his head to avoid catching her eye, and saw Cloud was hastily adjusting his jacket. Turning to look back up the stairs, Squall saw that Rinoa was being followed by Aerith Gainsborough, looking equally pretty in a long pink dress.

"Hi guys!" said Rinoa brightly, skipping down the last few stairs to meet them.

"Hey Cloud, how's your head?" she asked, with a wicked grin.

"Fine, thanks for asking" said Cloud, casual to the point of indifference.

"Sorry about that" said Aerith, a little bashful.

"Don't sweat it" said Cloud, giving his fringe another casual flick.

"We're just off to watch the jockey's getting ready" said Rinoa "Wanna come with us? Daddy got me a pass down into the inner-circle."

"Err… we were just going to our –" Squall began, but Tifa cut him off with a discreet kick to the shin.

"We'd love to" she said, turning back down the steps. Cloud quickly fell in beside Aerith. Squall felt his stomach jolt: he couldn't get down to Tifa without barging between them. Desperately trying to hide his blushes, he moved to RInoa's side. He was so intent on avoiding her gaze that he completely failed to notice that she was doing exactly the same thing. After a moment or two's awkward silence, Squall cast around for something to say.

"I… err, didn't know you were interested in racing" he said, latching onto the first thought that came to him.

"I'm not, really" said Rinoa "But Aerith's got a thing for that soldier- jockey… Hack, or something?"

"I have not" said Aerith, turning a flushed face to Rinoa "And it's Zack, Rinoa. But, yeah, he is cute."

Squall couldn't see Cloud's face, but he saw his friend's shoulders droop. Strangely, Tifa seemed to be walking a little more freely.

* * *

_Hi, author here! Sorry about the excessive length but it's all relevant, I promise. As always, please review to tell me what you like, what you don't and what you'd like to see._


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Where'd you say you found 'em?" Braig asked Xehanort, elbows rested on the rim of the makeshift pen.

"Beneath the castle. On the edge of the ravine" replied Xehanort. He was standing a little way back from the pen, arms folded, brow creased in thought.

Inside the pen, the three little creatures waddled back and forth, occasionally stroking the barrier with their stubby antenna.

"Do we know what they are?" asked Ienzo from the doorway, hand on chin.

"Even is checking the castle archives as we speak" said Xehanort "But he will not find anything. These are new."

They certainly did not look like anything Xehanort could remember. They were insect-like, with bulbous, glowing yellow eyes, the only features on their otherwise blank faces, and short, clawed forelimbs. Yet, their obsidian black bodies had neither fur, carapace or scales. Xehanort had only been able to briefly touch one of them before it clawed at him. Their bodies had a texture and pigment that was found nowhere else in nature. It was barely matter at all, like mist condensed into solid form.

"You found them by the ravine?" said Dilan, upright, arms folded behind back as he peered over the barrier.

"Yes"

"Where we left the experiments?" said Dilan, his voice emotionless. Xehanort kept his features carefully neutral, but inside he smiled. Dilan had adapted much more easily to the nature their new experiments than some of the others. The detached, pragmatic mind of the soldier had taken over, putting aside any personal qualms in the line of duty. Xehanort had never asked Dilan, who was a private man at the best, about his service during the war. He had learned from the other apprentices that Dilan had once been a celebrated chocoboman on the racecourse, and a feared lancer on the field. Details, however, were scarce. The apprentices could tell him nothing and Ansem had forbidden him to question any further. But there were rumours, if one listened hard enough. Maudlin old soldiers, when plied with enough drink, would recount stories of Kinoc's Folly: a tactical blunder on a catastrophic scale. Dilan, it was said, was one of the few survivors. Of the others, Xehanort could discover nothing.

"You think these creatures have some connection with the experiments?" Ienzo asked, drawing towards the pen.

"They sure _feel_ dark," said Braig, breathing in deeply. The apprentices nodded: the creatures seemed filled with the cold, magnetic aura that they associated with the darkness of the heart. Xehanort felt it more keenly than the others. The darkness in heart had swelled with each successive experiment, bringing with it whole new realms of power.

"Where's Aeleus?" he asked the others.

"Out fetching new test subjects," said Ienzo, unreadable as always.

"Tell him to go down to the ravine when he returns" Xehanort instructed "He's to fetch up as many of these… _things_ as he can carry. We must begin experimenting on them as soon as possible."

Xehanort had initially been troubled by Aeleus's attitude to their experiments: secrecy and deception did not sit easily with him. However, as he began to realise the potential that lay in the darkness of the heart, he had become more and more enthusiastic for them to progress. Believing with utmost certainty in their cause, he had developed an almost brutal disdain for the test subjects. This, when combined with his natural size and strength, made him the ideal kidnapper. Under Xehanort's direction, he had personally brought in over half the apprentices' test subjects.

"Why can't you tell him yourself?" Braig asked Xehanort, with almost casual insolence.

"I have to work on my Report," said Xehanort, as he left to return to his rooms in the castle above.

The other apprentices watched him go. They stared thoughtfully at the creatures for a few moments before Ienzo spoke:

"He's writing a Report? Like Ansem?"

None of them had noticed it but sometime after they had begun their experiments, the apprentices had stopped referring to Ansem as 'master'.

"He sees himself as his equal" said Dilan, thoughtfully.

"Why not" shrugged Braig "He's just as smart and twice as powerful, right?"

"Perhaps he seeks to replace him?" said Ienzo, his voice so soft that the other two could barely hear it.

"Nah," said Braig, dismissing the suggestion with a wave of his hand "Probably just wants to show Ansem what we've been up to. You know, when we let him in on it?"

The other two did not reply.

* * *

The double doors to the male changing rooms banged open. The cadets, all in various stages of undress, looked round. Jecht, Head of the Corps Sports and Athletics Section, swaggered in. He was dressed as always, regardless of weather or season: naked to waist, with a crimson bandanna around his brow and loose blue pants. He glanced disdainfully around the steamy changing room.

"Now listen up!" he barked "I need two volunteers to run some errands for me. It'll mean takin' the whole day out."

"Sir," said Squall, snapping to attention by his locker "I would be glad to volunteer, sir."

"Alright, Leonheart. I suppose Strife'll be taggin' along too?" said Jecht.

Cloud, who sitting on the bench opposite Squall, gave him a bemused look, then shrugged.

"I suppose so, sir"

"Good. Get dressed. I'll be waitin' out here to brief ya."

When Squall and Cloud emerged from the changing rooms they found Jecht pacing the corridor. His cragged handsome face was overcast.

"First things first" he snapped at the cadets, still pacing "I ain't happy 'bout this, but it's come all the way from the top an' orders is orders I suppose."

"You know 'bout the parade we're holdin' next week?" he asked. Squall and Cloud nodded.

"Well, Ansem the Wise wants people from all the territories an' all the services to be included. An' he's got everyone of 'em he asked. There's just one pain in the ass who ain't replied either way."

"Who is it, sir?" asked Cloud. Jecht glared at him for speaking out of turn, but did not rebuke him:

"Name o' Cid Highwind. He's the best damn pilot that's ever taken to the skies, and also the craziest. He was Sky Marshal in his time. Lives out in the hills, 'bout twenty miles due south from river basin. You're to take this –"

Jehct produced a dog-eared envelope from his belt and handed it to Squall

"— to him today. And don't come back without a straight answer, y' hear?"

"Understood, sir," said Squall, snapping off another salute.

"Which stable do we report to, sir?" Cloud asked.

"Chocobos?!" said Jecht "You think we got birds to spare for errand runnin', with the parade in a week?! Nah, you'll take a hover. The hanger's already got one fitted out for you."

Squall saluted and turned to leave. Cloud followed, a little pale in the face.

Half and hour later the cadets were riding on a wide road beneath the city wall, down to the city gate. The vehicle was of a simple design: a large propeller mounted on a steel framework, running on narrow skis. Squall was at the controls, directly in front of the propeller. Cloud slung limply to the passenger seat down on his left, just above the ski. He was green in the face, and groaning under his breath.

"We should've walked" he moaned.

"You'll feel better when we get out of the city," said Squall, not taking his eyes from the road.

"Oh yeah, nice smooth hills(!)" said Cloud bitterly "Jecht _knows_ I get travel sick. Bet he could have got us chocobos if he wanted to…"

"Well, maybe you shouldn't run down blitzball where he can hear you" said Squall. Cloud tried to laugh, gave a groan and rolled over in his chair to be noisily sick onto the road.

The hover turned left and passed through the open gate and onto the wide road running down from city towards the plain. While his travel sick friend was busy being ill, Squall was able relax and enjoy the view. Behind them, the castle rose white and gleaming in the sun. The central trunk stood upon a wide hill of grey rock, airships of every shape and size weaving their way through the many conical towers, upon the most sturdy of which were mounted the great air docks. Even from this distance, Squall could see thin trails of silvery-blue steam rising from the funnels that topped many of the towers; waste products from the mako-refinery that produced the town's energy.

Beneath the castle the red roofs of the city were spread out, neatly encased in the high, grey stone wall. The wall, once a formidable fortification, was now crowned with lovingly tended gardens. An intricate irrigation system kept the gardens watered before being drained off into the sixteen sweeping waterfalls that cascaded into the moat. The moat then fed into the naturally occurring river that ran south away from the city, before turning east with the plains. The only way into the city on land was by a narrow causeway. From the causeway, a road ran along the tree-speckled side of the river carved ravine.

Squall now turned off from the road, which stuck close to the river as it wound its was towards the western towns, and headed down onto the vast plains. A sea of blazing green, it stretched for many miles to the south and east. Squall grinned as he thrust the hover into first gear and leapt across the plain. Beside him, Cloud retched. As they headed south, a range of hills began to creep over the horizon. They were dark and thickly wooded with pine trees.

"Where should I turn off?" Squall shouted to Cloud over the hum of the propeller.

"Read it… yourself" Cloud called back, passing up the map. Squall scowled and moved the hover down several gears while he tried to read the map with one hand. When he found his bearings, he rammed the hover into first again, startling a passing flock of wild chocobos as they sped past.

They left the hover at the foot of the hills, much to Cloud's delight, and began climbing the narrow woodland paths to the summit. The forest was pleasantly dark, filled with the soft noises of hidden animals. After ten minutes brisk climb, they came to the brow of the hill. Looking down, they saw a wide basin amongst the hills that had been carefully cleared of trees. It was littered with rusting machinery, some of it huge. A huge, ramshackle warehouse dominated the basin. Twenty feet high, and easily three times as wide, its great corrugated iron doors were flung open. From where they stood the two friends could not see into the shadowy interior, save for the occasional fountain of orange sparks.

Quickly descending to the basin floor, the two friends picked their way through the mechanical debris. They were within a dozen feet of the warehouse when a trio of Moogles scurried out into the sunlight. Moogles were not a common sight in the city: they did many of the private jobs that were necessary for the city's smooth running. These three were blackened with dirt and wearing welding goggles perched above their round noses.

"Welcome, kupo!" said the lead Moogle, pompom waggling with excitement.

"What can we do for you?" asked another.

"We are here to see Cid Highwind" said Squall, a little stiffly.

"Why do you want to see him, kupo? We don't get many visitors" asked the Moogle.

"It's very important. We have a message for him, from Ansem the Wise."

"We will tell him immediately, kupo!"

The Moogles ran back into the warehouse, pompoms waving wildly as they went. After a few minutes wait, one of the Moogles reappeared looking slightly abashed.

"Err… come on in, kupo" it said, a little warily.

"Thank you" said Cloud, as they were led into the warehouse. It was very dark and airless inside. Most of the room was taken up with a great many airship parts. Moogles were everywhere, working with tools, machines, carrying parts. In the centre, work had begun on bolting some of the parts together. An officious looking Moogle was standing next to it, pouring over a large blueprint held up by two others.

"Cid is through here, kupo" said the Moogle as it led the two cadets to the very back of the warehouse.

"Err… I must warn you," it said sheepishly "He's not very pleased to see you."

At the rear of the warehouse a dingy little workshop had been built against the wall. The walls were papered with airship designs. Models airships hung like bats from the ceiling. The air was thick with tobacco smoke. Cid Highwind was sitting behind a battered old drawing table in the centre of the room, a cigarette clamped between his teeth. He was actually quite young, with a trim body and bright blonde hair, but a combination of nicotine and world-weary cynicism gave him the air of a man twice his age.

"Well, what's this message that's so damn important?" he demanded as soon as the two cadets stepped through the door.

"Err… we've been ordered to give you this, um, letter" said Squall, a little put out by Cid's rough manners. He held out the letter. Cid glanced at it, and turned an angry gaze on Squall.

"I already got one of them" he said "Had Braig deliver it over personal, too. I'm givin' you the same answer I gave him: it'll be a cold day in hell 'fore I go back to the city."

"But… this is from Ansem himself" said Squall insistently "You can't just – "

"First of all, ain't nobody gonna tell me what I can and can't do" snapped Cid "Second, if my ol' flyin' buddy can't persuade me then you don't have a hope. I don't give a rat's ass about Ansem, or any of this parade bull. So you just get yourselves of my property and back to polishin' the sidewalk or whatever it is you do nowadays."

Squall scowled and turned to leave but was stopped by Cloud's hand on his shoulder.

"I'll handle this" he murmured so that Cid could not hear him.

"Say, Mr Highwind" he said, pointing back through the door "What're you working on out there?"

"Nuthin' you'd be interested in" said Cid sourly, not looking up from his drawing board.

"Try me" said Cloud with a cocky smile. Cid looked up. For a moment, Squall thought he saw the faintest gleam in the older man's eye.

"Alright, smart ass" he said, getting to his feet and leading them back into the warehouse proper.

"This here is my life's work: _Highwind Mark II-ZF_" he said, waving at the clutter of airship parts that filled the warehouse.

"Why _ZF_?" asked Cloud.

"Well," said Cid "I ran through _A_ to _Z_, so I just started over again. She'll be one in a long line, but I'm pretty sure I've got it right this time. At least the last three didn't explode…"

y's she _Mark II_? What happened to _Mark I_?" asked Cloud.

"She's _Mark II_ 'cause she's a new type o' ship. An' _Mark I_'s fine: she's under canvas on the other side of the hill. Couldn't have her melted down, not after all we'd been through."

"She was your warship?"

"Yup. Only one of her kind. Made plenty o' special modifications over the years to her. O' course, there ain't no need for her now. After the war, they decided to downsize the airfleet. But they let me keep her… for old time's sake I guess."

"You didn't stay on as Air Marshal?"

"'Course not! I'm a pilot, not a soldier dammit! I got made Air Marshal 'cause no-one else was fool enough to take the job. It sure weren't in my career plan. _This_ is what I always wanted to do."

"So, what's special about the _Mark II_?"

"She's gonna fly into space"

Cloud and Squall stared.

"I'll thank y'all not to laugh" Cid said "I've had enough o' that to last me a lifetime."

"A… spaceship?" said Cloud hesitantly.

"Like I always dreamed of" said Cid.

"So, that's why you've got all the thrusters" said Cloud.

Cid raised an eyebrow.

"You ain't as dumb as you look, kid"

"Thanks" said Cloud, flicking his fringe with the back of his hand.

"So… is that why you left the fleet?" he asked.

"Yup. Most of o' the other soldiers thought it was a waste o' munny. Lookin' back actually… Ansem was the only one who stuck by me."

Cid rocked back on his heels, his eyes glazed over with reminiscence.

"Yeah… gave me some munny to start my research. O' course, I couldn't stay in the city: nobody'd give me enough room. So I moved out here. Lost contact. Haven't thought about them days in years…"

"So Ansem gave you munny?" Cloud asked.

"Yeah…" said Cid thoughtfully "I guess… over the years, I just kinda lumped him in with all those other assholes back in the city. Maybe he ain't so bad after all…"

Cid removed his cigarette from between his teeth and ground it beneath his heel.

"Alright, kid, y' got me" he said, grudgingly "I'll do it. Tell Ansem I'll do his damn parade."

* * *

_Hi ho, author here! Just the usual note asking you to please review with constructive criticism: what you like, what you don't and anything you think needs changing._


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The automatic door slid open. A shaft of light illuminated the greenish gloom of the boardroom.

"You just gonna stand there?" asked Reno, who was leaning against the far wall. Vincent made no reply as he stepped through. The door slid shut behind him. The dull green light gave his pale skin a sickly hue that contrasted badly with the dark hair combed into an elegant fringe that hung over his left eye.

"Long time no see" said Rude, his ever-present sunglasses perched above his nose.

"I've been busy" said Vincent curtly, moving to stand beside the long steel table.

"Haven't we all?" said Elena sardonically, her feet up on the table.

"You got any idea why he wants us _all_ here?" Reno asked Vincent. The Turks, as they, the Investigation Division of the Radiant Garden Police Force, were informally known, generally operated alone or in pairs. Only the most serious of crises would require a whole team meeting.

"No. But it can only be one thing, right?" said Vincent with a shake of his head.

"Our thoughts exactly" said Tseng, the Turk's dark haired deputy leader. He was sitting opposite Elena, fingers steepled in front of him.

The door slid open again. Those seated rose and stood to attention. Laguna Loire stepped in. While the others wore their uniform blue suits, Laguna was deliberately casual in brown cargo pants and blue leather jacket over a white t-shirt.

"Alright, sit down" he said curtly, drawing up the chair at the head of the table.

"I'm sure you've all worked out why I called this meeting," he said grimly. The Turks all nodded. People were talking of nothing else: the recent wave of disappearances.

"Twenty three people" said Laguna, laying a thick lever-arch folder on the table "have vanished without trace, within the city boundaries in the last month."

"I had a meeting with Ansem last night," he continued "I don't need to tell you that he is more than a little concerned about this. Especially with the twenty year celebrations next week."

"What're our orders, boss?" asked Reno.

"For a start, all other cases are to be put on hold. For next week, at least." Laguna added when he saw the disgruntled expression on their faces.

"We cannot afford another disappearance during the celebrations. People are scared enough as it is. One more could start a panic and I don't want to think about where that could lead. Therefore I want _at least_ one agent on guard at every major event. I've given orders to the regulars that they're to give you their full co-operation, as usual.

"Second, Vincent, I'm assigning you to investigate this case. Your security clearance will be upgraded to Code 1 for the duration. You are to be provided with full licence to operate outside normal regulations."

There were murmurs of agreement from the other Turks. The situation seemed to merit such extreme measures.

"And Vincent," said Laguna pointedly "don't fail."

* * *

The child screamed and turned to run. The creature moved forward, claws extended. The child tried to flee but caught her feet in her long white gown, sending her crashing to the floor. The monster was right beside her now; its stubby antenna stroked the child's shoulders. The child sobbed, batting feebly at the creature. The creature pounced. Its claws dug deep into the child's chest. The child gave a throat-tearing screamed. Even made a note on his clipboard.

"The same result?" said Ienzo, standing at Even's shoulder.

"Almost identical" replied Even. He gestured to Dilan, who was standing nearby, holding a steel cage under his arm. Dilan nodded and sprang forward, slamming the cage down over the creature. The creature clawed ferociously at the bars but Dilan ignored it, calmly tucking the cage under one arm and carrying it out of the laboratory. The child had vanished.

"They only respond to living subjects…" said Even thoughtfully, re-examining his clipboard.

"In short," said a voice from the door "those that possess hearts"

Ienzo and Even turned. Xehanort was standing in the doorway, a knowing smile on his lips.

"Xehanort" said Even, bowing stiffly "I was… just about to process these results."

"No need," said Xehanort, stepping forward to take the clipboard from Even's hand. Even and Ienzo bowed again. None of the apprentices could remember exactly when they had begun to treat Xehanort like this: he had certainly not commanded them to do so. It just seemed right. Xehanort had delved far deeper into the darkness than any of them, surpassing them in both power and knowledge: their natural superior. He stood in silence for a moment, considering the results recorded on the clipboard.

"Hmm… yes," he said at length "Yes. These results confirm my hypothesis about the Heartless."

"Heartless?" said Even.

"Yes. Do you like it?" said Xehanort with a smile.

"Very appropriate" said Ienzo dryly.

"What hypothesis?" asked Even.

"That the Heartless seek and consume living hearts, although to what purpose I still do not know" said Xehanort briskly, handing the clipboard back to Even. Reaching inside his lab coat, he produced a slim volume bound in red.

"Here. The first sections of my Report. Everything we have discovered so far is recorded in there" he said, handing the volume to Even. Even flicked the volume open. He frowned.

"What is it?" Xehanort asked.

"It says… Ansem's Report" said Even hesitantly, avoiding Xehanort's gaze.

"What of it?" Xehanort demanded, real anger in his voice "I have no name, no memories. I am nothing. Xehanort means nothing.

"Why should I not take his name? A name he… disgraces with his cowardice. Ansem was a man of vision… with the courage to go where other men would not. Now… he is weak, frightened by what he does not understand. I shall continue what he could not."

His voice was slow, halting, as if articulating thoughts he could not quite understand. Even and Ienzo did not try to interrupt him, their faces remaining carefully neutral.

Xehanort's head sank onto his breast. He took a deep breath. When he looked up again, his face was filled with its familiar energy.

"Continue the research. Keep me updated"

Ienzo and Even did not speak for several minutes after Xehanort had left the laboratory. Even busied himself with filing the results from the latest experiment. Ienzo considered the 'Ansem Report'.

"Aeleus is not going to like this" Even said, not looking up from his filing.

"No: you're wrong" said Ienzo, stroking his smooth chin "It may take some time but… he'll come round. He swore to protect Ansem. If Xeha-- if Ansem can convince him of whom he really is, that loyalty can be transferred. Braig and Dilan will be the same."

Even did not reply as he closed the file and returned it to the cabinet.

"What about you?" Ienzo asked, watching Even closely.

"Xehanort, Ansem, it makes no difference" said Even coldly "The experiments are what is important."

Even turned to Ienzo

"And you?"

"Me?" Ienzo seemed taken aback by the question "I… I will wait. This is going to be very… interesting."

* * *

Aerith glanced up from the flowerbed she was tending. Cloud was sitting on top of the garden wall, one leg dangling down.

"Oh, don't mind me" Cloud said casually, a pleasant smile on his face.

"There's a word for people who spy on girls" Aerith said lightly, eyes returning to the flowerbed. Cloud gave a laugh as he dropped down into the garden.

"_And_ a trespasser" said Aerith, turning away from Cloud and heading down the path, back to the greenhouse.

"You gonna call the cops?" Cloud asked, following her.

"That all depends"

"On what?"

"On how _fast you are_" Aerith yelled, seizing the garden hose and turning it on Cloud. Cloud gave a yelp of surprise, arms flailing to try and deflect the water.

"Come… back!" Cloud laughed as Aerith fled, the hose discarded at her feet. Aerith darted into the greenhouse, locking the door behind her, then rushing for the far exit. But Cloud was too quick. He was rounding the corner just as she came out of the greenhouse. She skidded to a halt and thrust her right hand towards him, palm first.

"Protect!" she cried. Cloud ran head long into the invisible barrier, but the spell was deliberately weak: it felt like running into a net. He laughed and started after her across the lawn. She was still running but not so fast as to escape him. He sprinted straight for her, only to be met with another Protect spell.

"Too slow" she taunted, now heading toward the garden path. Cloud headed after her again, a crafty smile on his lips. Aerith spun round, arm raised.

"Protect!"

Cloud, not pausing in his stride, dropped and rolled aside, avoiding the barrier. Aerith darted left, away from him. Cloud's right arm shot out, palm first.

"Demi!" he yelled, targeting Aerith's foot. The spell was hastily prepared but Cloud's aim was good. Aerith stumbled, her right foot momentarily stuck to the floor. She tried to turn in mid-stride, tripped and fell headlong onto the grass.

Cloud was on her before she had time to stand. He leant over her, not actually touching but still preventing her from getting up.

"What time do you want me to pick you up?" he asked. Aerith looked confused.

"For the castle ball? Next week?" Cloud said, a faint look of worry passing across his face.

"You want me to go with you?" Aerith asked, with a frown.

"Oh, did I forget to ask?" said Cloud. He smiled and rolled back onto the grass beside her. She raised herself up on her elbow and looked down at him.

"You just assumed I'd accept?" she said, a sceptical look in her eye.

"Is that a no?" he asked, raising himself up so that his head was level with hers. She gave a snort of laughter and shoved him onto his back. She turned away, staring at a tree on the far side of the garden wall.

"What about Tifa?" she asked. Her voice sounded a little strange.

"What about her?" Cloud asked.

"Well… she's older… and pretty… and…"

"So she'll have no problem getting a date. What I want to know is if _you_ will go with _me_."

Aerith looked away, her cheeks flushed.

"But… surely there are loads of girls…"

"Yeah," said Cloud, moving round to sit in front of her again "but _I_ want to go with _you_."

Aerith looked down, her face burning now.

"So… what do you say?" Cloud asked again, the faintest note of worry creeping into his voice.

Aerith turned away again, scrambled to her feet and rushed back towards the house. Cloud did not attempt to follow her. He stood up, his shoulders sagging, and turned wearily towards the garden wall.

"Is seven OK?"

He spun round but Aerith had already vanished through the back door. Cloud stood up straight, flicked his golden fringe and took off towards the garden wall at a run.

* * *

It took Squall a good while longer than was strictly necessary to climb the stairs to the top of the wall. His instructors in the Corps had subjected him to some punishing exercises over the years, but none had left him feeling quite this weak. His skin was clammy, legs hollow, stomach unstable. It was just a question of whether he would pass out or throw up first.

It was early evening, the setting sun still blazing large on the horizon. The plains seemed to be carpeted in gold, the river was filled with diamonds. A light wind rustled the wall top garden. Squall looked round. His stomach gave a sickening lurch: Rinoa was sitting on a bench a short way down the wall, staring out over the landscape. Angelo was lying curled up at her feet.

Should he creep up and surprise her? Would she like that? Or would it just upset her? Squall stood in silent deliberation for a few moments. In the end, he decided it would be best _not_ to surprise her and just call over.

"H-hi!" he called, giving an awkward little half-wave to attract her attention. She turned, returning the wave. Even from a distance, her smile made Squall's cheeks burn.

"You just going to stand there?" she called over.

"Sorry" said Squall, now walking a little too quickly towards the bench. He sat down, careful not to meet her eye.

"It's lovely up here, isn't it?" Rinoa said, gazing round at the garden. Squall nodded. He was not much of an aesthetic but even he could appreciate the beauty of the garden. People called them Ansem's Gift, because he had personally designed and planted them. No expense had been spared, and the greatest of care taken, to make them the finest in all the land. The irony was, of course, that they were built on the old fortifications: artillery emplacements had become flowerbeds, trees had replaced soldiers, gunfire exchanged for streams of water.

"So… did you bring me up just to admire the gardens?" Rinoa asked.

"Not… not exactly" said Squall, his cheeks already colouring.

"What, then?" Rinoa asked. She shifted herself a little closer to Squall. She placed her hand on his. Squall felt his chest jolt. He withdrew his hand.

"How's… how's high school?" he asked quickly to cover his panicky reaction.

"Fine" said Rinoa, a little put-out by the odd the question.

"You decided what you're going to do next year?" Squall asked, as he searched desperately for the right words.

"Not really" said Rinoa, leaning back and staring up at the clouds "But I know one thing: I won't be the joining Training Corps."

"Oh," said Squall. He had hoped they could talk about it.

"Don't get me wrong, I don't hate the Corps or anything," Rinoa said quickly, "it's just that I don't want to be in daddy's shadow for the rest of my life. Y'know: 'the general's daughter'? So I thought I'd better get out and do my own thing."

"Go for it" said Squall, enthusiastically "I'm sure you'll be great, whatever you do"

"Thanks" she said, laying a hand on his arm. He blushed again but did not look away this time. There was an expectant look in her eyes.

"Err… Rinoa, erm…" Squall's mind was suddenly blank.

"I've… I've got to go!" he said, leaping to his feet and accidentally treading on Angelo's tail. Angelo howled, whipped round and tried to savage Squall's leg. Squall stepped back, caught his knee on the bench and tumbled into a shrubbery. Rinoa grabbed Angelo's collar and dragged him back, scolding him all the while. When he had quietened down, she reached down and helped Squall back to his feet. He stumbled into her as he tried to regain his balance. He steadied himself, then froze: he had his hands at her waist. She didn't pulled away.

"Squall?" she said expectantly, looking up into his face. Squall felt cold. He was glad that he was holding onto her: he wasn't sure he could have stood up without the support.

"Do you, I mean… if you're not already… if you don't mind…"

"Do you want to take me to the ball?" Rinoa asked abruptly.

"Err… yeah" said Squall, feeling very foolish. Rinoa gave a small sigh but now she was beaming.

"Yes, I'd love to" she said. She stretched up and gave him a small kiss on the cheek. Squall stood slack-jawed for a moment as she stepped back.

"See you at seven?" she said, taking Angelo's leash and heading toward the steps.

"Err... yeah, great!" Squall shouted after her.

* * *

_Hey, author here! Sorry about the long time between updates but this is a really important chapter and I wanted to get it right. Also, I've been working on some new one-shot fics about the Organisation. I will try and get Chapter 7 done faster._

_As usual please review and tell me what you think. Constructive criticism is always welcome!_


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

It was the biggest party in living memory. The whole city was decorated. Coloured streamers crisscrossed above the streets. Flags hung from every window. Flowers were handed out on street corners. People laughed and smiled at the slightest joke. Musicians held impromptu concerts in marketplaces and parks. The castle, towering high over the city, was the centrepiece: Moogles had laboured for many days to attach a glittering framework of stained glass to the Great Crest. Coloured pennants waved from the many towers, while the usually silver-blue mako streams were transformed into dazzling rainbows.

The parade took place on the morning of the second day. Starting at the main gate, it took a circular route around the city, before finishing at the castle gates. Cloud and Squall, along with the other cadets, had been ordered to help with crowd control and so had a clear view of the whole spectacle. At the front rode the proud knights, their chocobos dressed in delicate silk caparisons. Behind them came chocobo-drawn artillery: cannon and mortar on wheeled carriages. Then the infantry in shining plate armour, rifles resting against their shoulders, swords at their belts. Squall spotted Kiros and Ward, two of his father's old friends, marching with their regiments. They waved and shouted to him but, because he was on duty, he could not reply. Now the crowd cooed in amazement; regiments from the distant provinces were marching past: fierce Ronso from the mountains, Burmecian lancers with long rat tails, sable-clad ninjas from Wutai, Viera archers with gold rings in their rabbit-ears. Then came the magi in flowing robes. Cloud spotted Master Magus amongst them. He did not wave.

And then, in pride of place, despite bringing up the rear, came Ansem and his retinue. The crowds cheered themselves hoarse: each one a hero in their own right. There was General Sephiroth with his legendary sword, the Masamune, at his side. Colonel Zack was alongside him, beaming broadly and blowing kisses to the girls. Auron was there too, head bowed, with Braska and Jecht either side of him. Rinoa's father, General Caraway, resplendent in full dress uniform, marched stiffly alongside General Beatrix and her lover, Colonel Steiner. Ansem himself was dressed in a simple red robe. His apprentices walked behind him as a personal honour guard: Braig in the uniform of a sky captain, Dilan in knight's armour, Aeleus in leathers. Even, Ienzo and Xehanort wore civilian clothes, not having served in the war.

The parade halted at the castle gates at midday. Ansem turned to the crowds that had gathered in the road behind the parade. He raised his arms. At that signal the air above the castle exploded in a riot of colour, as a thousand fireworks erupted together. Then, racing down out of the clouds, came the air fleet. _Highwind Mark I_ led the way. Battered and ugly she may have been but she flew with more grace than anything followed. The fleet flew in a series of cells: a hulking battleship or carrier at the centre, with smaller frigates surrounding them and then individual one man jets or helicopters swarming around them. They passed over the city three times, firing a salute each time, which the castle guns echoed. With a second burst of fireworks, the gates opened and Ansem entered his castle. That afternoon a sombre ceremony was held in the chapel, attended by the most prominent city members, to remember those who fell. Dilan laid a wreath for those who perished in Kinoc's Folly. Cid laid one for the airfleet and Sephiroth one for the army.

Now it was night time, and Cloud and Squall were waiting anxiously in the Entrance Hall of the castle. Many couples had already met and departed to the ballroom and the two boys were starting to feel self-conscious. Thankfully, they did not have to worry about their appearance: the Corps dress uniform of dark blue trimmed with gold was nothing less than dashing, and the boys carried it well.

"What time is it?" Squall asked, for the eighth time in five minutes.

"What're you asking me for? You've got a watch, haven't you?" snapped Cloud, checking his reflection in the pool beneath the fountain that stood in the middle of the hall. Behind the fountain, two staircases led up to a raised walkway at the back of the hall. The central door led to the elevator shaft, while a door on the far left led into the castle library.

"Cloud…" Squall hissed, digging his friend in the ribs. Cloud turned round and froze, slack jawed. Aerith had just walked into the Entrance Hall. She wore a most flattering dress of green silk that carefully emphasised her curving figure. She wore an emerald clasp in her carefully arranged hair. At that moment, Cloud knew he would never see anything quite so beautiful again in his life.

Squall, however, did not even notice Aerith: Rinoa was only a few paces behind her. She wore a small white dress that showed off her shapely legs and long white arms. Around her throat she wore a chain of silver, and a single braid of diamonds glistened in her hair. He was quite glad to note that she had left Angelo at home.

"Shall we?" she said, holding out her arm, cheeks a little flushed. The couples linked arms and climbed the stairs to the lift.

* * *

"_Must it be tonight?" Ienzo asked. _

"_Yes" said Xehanort firmly as he adjusted his cufflinks in the mirror._

"_And if you are spotted?" said Ienzo, his manner deliberately casual._

"_I will not be spotted" Xehanort said with equal certainty "And even if I am, what is so suspicious about someone leaving the ballroom?_

"_And, if someone should raise questions" Xehanort said, pulling on his dinner jacket "we shall deal with them. We won't stop now. We're too close."_

* * *

The castle ballroom was vast, filling a whole floor of the west tower. The dance floor was in the centre of the room, covered in a single slab of brightly polished marble. The west wall was made up entirely of windows, with doors opening out onto a wide patio looking out over the city. The orchestra was on the east side of the room, behind the buffet and drinks stand. By the time the two couples reached the room, the ball had already begun. People were mingling and chatting around the edges, while the dance floor was filled with couples performing a lively gavotte.

"Hey, Squall-ee!"

Squall turned and blushed with embarrassment as Kiros and Ward pushed their way towards him.

"Hey, lookin' pretty sharp!" Ward said, ruffling Squall's hair with one huge, paw-like hand.

"And who is this beauty?" Kiros asked, taking Rinoa's hand and raising it to his lips. Rinoa suppressed a giggle and held herself with a mocking dignity worthy of an empress.

"Err… Rinoa, this is Kiros Seagill and Ward Zabac," Squall said, heartily wishing they would leave him alone.

"They're old friends of my dad's" he added.

"Rinoa _Heartilly_?" said Kiros thoughtfully "You're General Caraway's daughter, aren't you?"

"Hey, she _does_ look like Julia!" Ward said with a laugh "Same eyes, right? Hey, you got good taste Squall-ee!"

"Why don't we get some drinks…?" said Squall, steering Rinoa away. He glanced back to glare at the two older men but they just guffawed and waved.

* * *

_Xehanort scanned the ballroom, his manner carefully disinterested. Inside, however, he was growing nervous. The anticipation was mounting. His palms were sweaty. He was fighting down the urge to simply march out the door. Patience, he reflected, was not one of his virtues._

_The ball was well under way by now. The dancing ebbed and flowed across the floor, while others conversed at the edges. Several not unattractive women had requested that he dance with them but Xehanort had brushed them off with a smile and an excuse about a bad leg. _

_Xehanort glanced over to where Ansem stood, surrounded by a crowd of admirers and well-wishers. Dilan and __Aeleus_ _were stood just behind him. Xehanort caught Dilan's eye. Dilan gave an almost imperceptible nod. Xehanort returned the gesture and slowly stepped back into the shadow of a pot plant. A small door, for servants' use, was concealed there. Not looking around, he eased it open and stepped backwards into the narrow passage beyond. _

_Xehanort then turned and strode off. He took a route that had been carefully planned to avoid all the castle's major thoroughfares. As he walked, he stripped off his formal clothes. By the time he reached the laboratory, in the very deepest reaches of the castle, he was bare to the waist. Discarding his clothes on a workbench, he drew on a white labcoat and a pair of sturdy boots. Then he opened one of the storerooms. His master – Xehanort corrected himself – his former master thought that these housed only the hearts that had failed to survive their experiments. In a way he was right, for beneath the banks of storage jars, under Xehanort's most powerful spells of concealment, were cages filled with Heartless, captured from the pits beneath the castle dungeons. Opening one of the cages, Xehanort stretched out his hand. With the greatest of care, he levitated one of the Heartless up, out of the cage and placed it lightly on the floor in front of him._

"_Now," said Xehanort, producing a notebook from inside his coat, "show me what you do"_

* * *

Cloud leant back against the pillar, one arm around Aerith's waist. They were both flushed from dancing. He grinned down at her. She smiled back. He leant towards her. She pulled back, a teasing smile on her lips.

"I'll go get us some drinks, shall I?" she said, slipping away and moving towards the nearest table. Cloud was admiring her shapely figure as she walked away when his view was suddenly blocked. Annoyed, he looked up into the face of Setzer Gabbiani.

"What're you doing here?" Cloud asked, his surprise lending his voice a touch of indignation.

"It's nice to see you too, kid. And I was invited" said Setzer smoothly. He was exquisitely dressed in crimson, trimmed with burnished gold.

"Invited? You're a criminal!" said Cloud. Setzer smirked.

"A criminal gets caught, kid."

"So you stole an invite?"

"Not at all. Me and Ansem go way back. Oh yeah," Setzer smiled at Cloud's incredulous stare "he owes me more than a few. What, you think you can win a war with just swords and airships? It takes allsorts, kid."

Cloud scoffed. Setzer just smiled.

"There you are, sugar!"

Setzer turned round. Two very pretty girls, one blonde, the other a brunette, had appeared behind Setzer.

"What're you thinking, walking off like that?" the blonde asked, pretending to be hurt as she slipped her arm through Setzer's.

"Hey, who're you talking to?" the brunette asked, walking round Setzer to look at Cloud.

"Ooh, he's cute" she said. Cloud smiled and bowed slightly. She giggled. Setzer reached over and drew her close to his side.

"Hey, why are you wastin' your time with small fry when you got me?" he asked. The brunette giggled again and kissed him on the lips.

"See you round, kid" Setzer said with a grin, arms round the two girls as he turned back to the dance floor. Cloud shrugged his shoulders and flicked his eyes to the ceiling.

Someone placed a hand on his arm. He turned. Tifa was standing beside him, looking spectacular in a low cut dress of dark blue. She smiled and tugged on his arm, urging him towards the dance floor. Cloud glanced round. Aerith was nowhere to be seen. With a shrug, he followed.

* * *

_The Heartless had increased its speed. Pocketing his notebook, Xehanort began to jog after it. They were already far below the castle dungeons, past the labyrinthine tunnels of the Waterway and heading deeper. At first, Xehanort had thought that the creature was trying to return to its fellows in the pit, or to its spawning grounds. If it was returning there, it was taking a very indirect path. From its general behaviour, Xehanort guessed it was heading north and down. The caverns there were unexplored and unmapped: Ansem had never seen the need to investigate them. Once again, Xehanort reflected as he left the lights of the Waterway behind him, he was to tread an unknown path._

* * *

Cloud felt the music throbbing through his body. His feet rapped along in time with the beat. Opposite him, Tifa was in perfect synch to his movements. Her energy was infectious, and they began to dance harder and faster. Some of the other couples stopped and drew back to watch. Cloud grinned and picked up the pace. Tifa returned the smile as she matched him step for step.

Cloud whirled round and saw Aerith standing on the edge of the circle of onlookers, two glasses in her hand. He froze. She gave him a furious stare, then hurled one of the glasses to the floor and swept off through the dancers.

Cloud stood nonplussed for a moment, then started after her. He stopped, Tifa's hand on his shoulder.

"Let her go," Tifa said lightly, stepping to put her arm round his waist. Cloud gently pushed her away. He hesitated for a second, and then strode off, craning his neck to spot Aeirth in the crowd.

* * *

_The Heartless disappeared through the narrow gap, down into the crevasse. Xehanort followed. The passage was so narrow that he was forced to go sideways but he carried on, led by the sound of the Heartless's claws skittering on the stone. Above him floated two faint spells of light; dim globes that orbited his head like pale moons. _

_He was not sure of the time but it was at least several hours since he had left the ballroom. These natural passages, twisting veins in the living rock, seemed to have no limits. Deeper and deeper the Heartless had gone, Xehanort feeding off its unceasing energy. He had passed through caverns as vast as castle halls, along narrow ledges and gaping pits. _

_The crevasse was long, and grew narrower as it descended. Xehanort was forced to abandon both his lab coat and his boats to squeeze through the ever-tighter gaps. _

_Up ahead, he heard the Heartless's claws stop: they had arrived. _

* * *

Squall watched as Cloud pursued an implacable Aerith out of the ballroom and onto the patio.

"He still can't make up his mind" Rinoa said. It wasn't a question. Squall shrugged. She raised one eyebrow.

"You don't care?"

"It's his problem. Nothing I can do about it"

"You know, you're a funny guy," said Rinoa. Squall frowned: she wasn't laughing.

"I mean, you've got so much stuff going on under that scowl. How come your head doesn't burst?" she asked with a teasing smile. Squall shrugged again.

"Well, Mr. Deep-and-mysterious, are you going to ask me to dance? Or am I going to have to ask you that as well?" Rinoa asked, attempting to link arms with him. Without thinking, Squall pulled his arm back.

"What? You can't dance?" Rinoa asked.

"I've learned," said Squall, avoiding her eye.

"Then what's the problem?" she said, taking his arm again. He tried to pull away but she was having none of it. Dragging his feet with every step, Squall was reluctantly led out onto the dance floor.

* * *

_Xehanort stepped out of the crevasse. He was at the bottom of a pit, so deep that the night sky was no more than a tiny disc, the size of a saucer, high above. The wall opposite the opening of the crevasse was sheer and dark. A great door was set in the middle, with a huge dark keyhole in its very centre._

_Xehanort considered the door. These caves were unexplored, so Ansem could not have built it. That meant that it had been here before the castle. So who had made it? Or what? _

_Xehanort glanced down. The Heartless was standing rigid in front of the door, its antenna vibrating so strongly that they could hardly be seen. Barely thinking about it, Xehanort stretched out a hand and destroyed the Heartless with a thunder spell. He did not need the distraction. _

_He took a step towards the door. He could feel something behind it. A great, pulsating something, terrible and fascinating all at once. The thrilling iciness in his chest that he had come to associate with the darkness blossomed. Xehanort embraced it, trembling as he felt its power spreading through his being. He stepped forward again, his mind filled with nothing but the single intent to open that door. _

_He raised his arm, still a good ten feet from the door. He did not know why. Something he could not understand, something deep inside seemed to command it. His fingers began to shake as power, crackling like electricity, flooded into his hand. A silhouette, a half-seen mirage, appeared in his hand. Was it a sword? A key? Xehanort could not tell. A beam of light shot from the tip of the object, right into the centre of the keyhole. Xehanort heard a deep, booming note sounding from the door. _

_The silhouette in his hand faded. Xehanort stared, uncomprehending. What had a happened to him? What had happened to the door? It appeared unchanged. Xehanort stepped towards it. He grasped the handle. It swung open._

* * *

Rinoa took Squall's hand and placed it firmly on her hip. Looking up into his eyes, she began to follow his reluctant lead. Squall tried but he was distracted, partly by his own self-consciousness and partly by how pretty Rinoa was close up.

They stumbled. Squall turned to leave but Rinoa held onto his hand. She stepped close to him again, counting under her breath to help him find the beat. Squall began to dance again, desperately focusing on nothing but Rinoa's words. Rinoa's mouth… Rinoa's lips…

They collided with another couple. The man shot an angry rebuke at them but Rinoa just scowled at him and turned away. She smiled up at Squall. It brought a pleasant queasiness to his stomach. His mind cleared. He could focus on the dance. He remembered learning it. He'd been good at it.

As the dance reached its climax, the couples spun apart, holding hands at arm's length. Then, in an instance, they'd whirled back together, into each other's arms. Squall and Rinoa embraced, as close as they could be. Squall leant his head forward. Rinoa stretched up, lips parted. Their noses tilted ever so slightly, their hands entwined, they shared their first –

"AAAARRRGH!!!"

Squall's head whipped round. The dance floor was in chaos. Through the panicking couples he could just make out a lady, fallen on the edge of the dance floor. Something was standing on her chest. It was black and insect-like. It raised its clawed forelimb to strike.

A flash of steel, glittering in the light of the chandeliers, and the creature vanished in a strange black cloud. Sephiroth was standing over the woman, the Masamune drawn. But now the woman's screams were being echoed across the ballroom. More of the strange black creatures had appeared, their luminous yellow eyes bright against the polished marble. For a few seconds everything was chaos. Squall clutched Rinoa tight to him as guests rushed in all directions. He caught glimpses of swords flashing in the light. Then Sephiroth's voice, clear and calm, was raised above the tumult:

"Everybody over to the east-side of the room!"

People, not knowing what else what to do, obeyed. Squall, arm around Rinoa's shoulders, followed. There was some irritable mutterings as Cloud, Aeirth and Tifa elbowed their way towards them. They exchanged confused looks, then turned to watch the small knot of people talking quietly in the centre of the ballroom. Sephiroth was there, along with Zack, Auron, General Caraway, General Beatrix, Ansem and his apprentices. Their expressions were grim and they had not put up their weapons.

There were some startled cries at the muffled sound of gunfire out in the corridor. A moment later two Turks in dark blue suits entered the room, smoking pistols in their hands. They approached the group in the centre of the room. After a few minutes discussion, the group fanned out to the edges of the room, leaving Sephiroth alone in the middle.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" he said, his voice carrying easily to the back of the crowd "For your protection you are to be relocated to the Grand Hall! You will be accompanied and guarded by Colonel Zack, and Agents Tseng and Vincent. Please do not attempt to leave the group. This is an extremely dangerous situation!"

"OK, could you all start movin' towards the door?" Zack shouted, pointing the way with his Buster Sword. An uneasy murmuring rose from the crowd as it began to drift towards the exit. Suddenly, a voice:

"Ooh. Look at that!"

As one, the crowd turned. Through the patio windows, they could a great meteor shower descending from the night sky. Dozens, then hundreds, of thin silver arrows were falling, blazing brighter than the moon. The crowd cooed at the spectacle, while Zack and the Turks urged people to leave. As Squall turned to go, he saw something that frightened him far more than the creatures: Ansem looked scared.

* * *

_Hi, sorry about the length of this chapter. I'll try and keep the rest down to below 3,000._

_Besides that, what did you think? Was it good? Bad? What am I doing well? What could I improve on? Please review and let me know._


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"A shower of meteors?" said Xehanort, examining the lump of meteorite in his hand. It was a strange substance: very tough yet with a texture not dissimilar to rubber or thick elastic. It came in a variety of bright colours: they had yet to determine what the base was, if there was one.

"Yes, a very great one. It filled the sky" said Dilan.

"Most of them fell onto the country, outside the town, but some buildings have been badly damaged. I found this sample in the ruins." Ienzo added.

"And this was _after_ the Heartless appeared?" Xehanort asked, placing the lump of meteorite on the desk.

"No. They appeared to occur simultaneously," said Even, who was trembling quite badly. The shock of last night's events, and the fear of discovery, had shaken his usually icy demeanour.

"And the time? I need to know the exact time" said Xehanort earnestly.

"It was late night. No earlier than 11:30" replied Aeleus. Xehanort sighed.

"Then I am sure: they are connected: my opening the door and the events above ground."

He turned once again to his memories of that night. He still felt a chill at the thought of what he had seen: a huge, pulsating mass, so bright that it hurt to even stand in its presence. It had radiated power with an intensity that Xehanort had never experienced before. It was all he could do to drag the door shut, only for it to vanish as soon as it had closed. What was it, Xehanort wondered? He would have to think further on it.

"Your security measures are very poor. It is a wonder that you have not been discovered before now."

The apprentices whipped round. Sephiroth was perched on the edge of one of the lab workbenches, regarding them with a patronising stare. Xehanort was on his feet in an instant.

"How – " he began but Sephiroth cut him off.

"Please(!) The cameras are openly displayed and your spells of concealment were obvious, if one was looking for them. They were easy to break, once I had found them."

As he spoke Dilan, Aeleus and Braig began to edge towards the workbenches. They reached for scalpels, chairs: anything they could use as a weapon. Xehanort slipped his right hand behind his back, readying a powerful spell. Sephiroth stepped forward, away from the workbench.

"Stop. Do you really think you six can defeat _me_?" he asked, hand resting lightly on the handle of the Masamune.

"Xehanort," he said, turning to face him "you are a mighty sorcerer but, I tell you, _I am mightier_."

The two men stared deep into each other's eyes. After a long moment, Xehanort's gaze wavered. His right hand fell loose at his side, the spell forgotten.

"My name is Ansem" he said sternly. Sephiroth raised an eyebrow.

"Ansem is it? Well, _Ansem_, I come with a warning: watch the western stairs."

* * *

Vincent Valentine slipped silently around the corner, easily avoiding the gaze of the camera mounted high on the ceiling of the tunnel.

Why would someone want to watch a tunnel that leads only into empty caves, Vincent wondered?

He crept forward through the darkness, his highly developed night vision negating the need for a flashlight. The air up ahead was warmer. The tunnel was widening. As he drew closer, he could see a spiral staircase carved into the rock, illuminated by a dim light that seemed to be coming from the top of the stairs. He paused to examine the steps. They were neatly cut and clean: new and recently used. A few more minutes' observation revealed no tripwires, pressure pads or other tricks. Slowly, pausing often to check for traps, Vincent began to climb.

At the top of the stairs, he came to a doorway carved into the rock. It was strange: there was no door, no covering of any kind that Vincent could see. If this was indeed a secret passage, as he suspected, why was the entrance so obvious? Vincent began to feel uneasy. He reached inside his suit jacket and drew his pistol. Holding the weapon high with both hands, he crept forward, nerves tensed.

The room beyond the doorway was large and dark, lit only by thin neon strips above the workbenches that were placed against the walls. More workbenches were in the middle, cluttered with various pieces of scientific equipment. In the very centre of the room there was a strange contraption: a bed tilted at fourty five degrees from the floor, around which had been built a complex frame of tubes, machinery and leather belts. Vincent approached the contraption with something approaching reverence: there was a terrible feeling surrounding it, almost like a tomb.

The hum of electrical lights powering up caught his attention. Vincent spun round as, one by one, the laboratory lights sprang into life. What they illuminated seemed to him more terrible than any imagined horror that the darkness could have concealed. The workbenches, previously hidden with shadow, were now revealed to be groaning with large glass jars. Inside the jars, floating in preservative fluid, were hearts, glowing softly with ethereal light.

"What have they done?" Vincent wondered out loud.

"What was necessary," said a voice behind him. Vincent spun round to face the speaker but at that moment was struck from behind and he knew no more.

* * *

The door closed, muffling the screams coming from the laboratory.

"An unusual way of disposing with prisoners" said Sephiroth dryly as he followed Xehanort into the apprentices' common room. Close behind them came Dilan and Aeleus, like menacing gargoyles perched on Sephiroth's shoulders.

"What do you want from me?" Xehanort demanded furiously, turning on Sephiroth. Sephiroth gave him a quizzical look.

"If you wanted to betray me, then you would have already done so" said Xehanort "Similarly, you would not have warned me of the Turk's approach. Therefore it is clear that you want something, in return for your silence."

"I'm impressed," said Sephiroth "perhaps you not quite as foolish as I first thought.

"Yes, I do want something but I have more to bargain with than my silence" he continued "I was not alone in connecting your disappearance at the ball with the events of last night.

"Oh no: you are neither as clever nor as subtle as you think," Sephiroth said, in response to Xehanort's outraged look "I noticed you leave, as I am sure the Turk who you are currently attending to downstairs did. It was a simple matter to connect the two. How many more do you think saw you? You have been fortunate that someone has not asked the question more openly."

"Your point" said Xehanort bluntly.

"You have been careless but you have also been lucky: this is why you have escaped detection for so long. You can only be lucky so many times. I offer an alternative."

Sephiroth paused. When Xehanort did not speak, he continued:

"I will provide you with legitimate cover to conceal your experiments. I will propose the formation of an elite unit, with myself at its head, to combat these… Heartless that you have unleashed. Caraway and Beatrix will not oppose me on this: anything to assure the people that we are dealing with the crisis.

"Under the pretext of special training, I will turn over members of this unit to you, to do with as you please. You will be able to operate much more safely, without having to resort to kidnapping."

"And in return?" Xehanort asked, his voice laden with suppressed rage.

"You will show me everything you have discovered: every secret, every experiment you have conducted."

Sephiroth reached into his leather greatcoat and drew out a slim volume, bound in red suede. Xehanort recognised it instantly: it was his Report on the darkness. Aeleus made to grab for it but Sephiroth blocked his hand.

"Be still," he ordered. Aeleus stepped back.

"I have studied it," said Sephiroth, tossing the Report into Xehanort's hands "and I wish to know more. This darkness of the heart you wrote of: I want it. I want the power it can give me."

"And what would you do with that power?" Xehanort asked, pocketing the Report.

"That is my own business," said Sephiroth curtly.

"Do we have a deal?" he asked "My silence and my protection in return for the secrets of darkness."

Xehanort turned his back on Sephiroth. For a long time he was silent.

"You have but one other choice," Sephiroth said smoothly "and that is to kill me. And we both know that you cannot do that."

Xehanort sighed and turned back to face Sephiroth. When he spoke, his voice was slow and deliberate.

"How long will it take you to create this… unit?"

"Three weeks, at least. I do not wish to arouse suspicion."

"Very well. When it is done I will send for you. You will experience every experiment I have undergone. We will awaken the darkness that sleeps within you."

"Thank you. I am glad we understand one another"

With that, Sephiroth bowed and swept out of the room, completely ignoring Dilan and Aeleus. For a long while, there was silence in the common room. It was Dilan who spoke first.

"Do you really intend to –"

"Silence!" Xehanort thundered. Even the stoic Aeleus flinched at the fury in Xehanort's voice.

"What choice do I have?" Xehanort asked, arms flung wide. Dilan and Aeleus took a step back, heads bowed. When Xehanort spoke again, it was in a more measured tone:

"Dispose of the Turk in the usual manner when the others are finished with him. Then prepare the machine for Sephiroth."

He paused as strode towards the door. He turned back and spoke to them in a grim voice:

"And bring weapons"

* * *

_A short chapter for me, but I think that was a good place to end it, don't you? As always, I ask you to review with any thoughts, praise or criticism you might have about this, or any other, chapter._


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The canteen, usually busy, was thronged with cadets. People were perched on the edge of tables, squatting on the linoleum, leaning against walls. The atmosphere was tense. Some were loud and raucous, others quiet and solitary: all were nervous. Cloud was one of the former, Squall the latter and both were becoming immensely irritated by the other. Tifa sat a little apart from them: she and Cloud were barely speaking, but she needed the company.

The doors at the far end of the room swung open. Auron entered, walking briskly between the rows of plastic-topped tables. Two hundred pairs of eyes followed him. There was utter silence in the canteen. Auron halted before the Corps notice board, which was mounted beside the serving hatch. He turned to address the cadets. His expression was thunderous.

"Here," he said, producing a sheet of paper from his coat pocket, "the list."

No sooner had he fixed the paper to the notice board than the nearest cadets were crowding around him. Auron spun round. The cadets parted at his glance: he was clearly furious. It was widely known that this new unit had been created over the heads of the Training Corps staff. Although they accepted the need to combat the threat of the Heartless, the staff resented their best students being creamed off.

Cloud, Squall and Tifa jumped up to join the jostling, murmuring crowd as it converged on the notice board. From the front they could hear groans of disappointment, mixed with the occasional shout of triumph. After several painfully slow minutes they were at last close enough to read the notice. At the top in bold, official letters was the word 'SOLDIER'. Beneath that, a short list of names:

LeBlanc, S.

Leiden, Y. F.

Lola, L.

Marquez, C. D. N.

Squall and Tifa sighed and exchanged disappointed looks. Further down:

Scherwiz, F.

Strife, C.

Surgate, X. M.

Cloud stared blankly for a moment. Then his face split into a broad grin.

"Well done!" Tifa cried as she threw her arms around him, forgetting for a moment that they were supposed to be fighting. Cloud gave her a short hug. He looked up. Squall was standing apart from them, a slight frown on his face.

"Hey, are you alright?" Cloud asked.

"It's nothing" said Squall, "It's just a little strange…"

"What's strange?" said Cloud, his manner deliberately casual.

"Nothing. Just… why?"

"Why what?"

"Why… why not?"

"You mean why not you? Why did they choose me instead?" Cloud said, voice rising.

"Cloud, don't…" said Tifa sternly.

"What's the matter, Squall? Don't think I'm up to it?" Cloud demanded, ignoring Tifa.

"No," said Squall sullenly "I just wonder… why not me too?"

"When they let someone like me in, you mean?"

"That's not what I meant" Squall said, flushing a deep crimson.

"What _do_ you mean?"

"It's just…" Squall took a deep breath "I don't understand. It's not like you get better grades than me, or you're a better fighter…"

"Oh yeah?" Cloud said, squaring up to Squall. Tifa stepped between them, hand on his shoulder.

"Cloud! Squall, please."

"You know," said Cloud, "I'm surprised that you could be so petty, Squall."

Squall flushed red again.

"If I am, I learned from the best"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Forget it," said Squall, turning away. Cloud grabbed his shoulder, trying to turn him around.

"I said leave it, Cloud!" Squall yelled, throwing Cloud's arm back. The other cadets parted to let him past. No-one met his eye.

"Guys…" said Tifa softly, glancing from one boy to the other.

* * *

Xehanort stroked his chin, studying the machine with a critical eye. This was the third time he had checked it in the last hour. Beside him, Even scowled. He resented the implication that he had not prepared the machine properly. Xehanort gave a small sigh: once again, he could find nothing wrong with it.

"Try to relax," said Ienzo, leaning, arms folded, against a workbench. Xehanort did not reply. He rubbed his eyes: he had enjoyed little sleep over the past three weeks; not since Sephiroth had visited the laboratory. Every conceivable plan had passed through his mind: murder, blackmail, flight. All were equally futile. He was trapped and there was no way out.

The laboratory door opened. Aeleus, Dilan and Braig entered. They each carried a large tool bag. They set them down on a workbench near the machine. Braig drew two pistols and a long rifle from his bag. The pistols he strapped to his boots, under the hem of his lab coat, while he fixed the rifle to a grip he had fitted to the underside of a workbench. Dilan's bag contained four lances, which he proceeded to hide at various points around the room. Aeleus produced a pair of tomahawks. He placed them behind a collection of jars filled with preservative fluid. He reached into his bag again and produced a broad shield of unadorned steel. He handed it to Even.

"If there is a fight, hide behind this" he instructed. Even received the shield gingerly, and quickly hid it inside a packing crate. Aeleus then turned to Ienzo.

"Here," he said, producing a long, broad bladed dagger from his bag. Ienzo glanced at the dagger, then looked away.

"I don't know how to use it" he said.

"It's simple," said Braig, from across the laboratory "you hold the blunt bit, you stick the pointy bit in the other guy."

Ienzo glared at him, then returned to Aeleus.

"I don't want it."

"What will you do if something does happen?" Aeleus asked, frustrated by Ienzo's refusal "Use a book(?)"

Ienzo sneered and turned his back on Aeleus. Aeleus scowled.

"Do you want it?" he asked Xehanort.

"No" Xehanort replied "I won't need it."

Xehanort drew up a chair and sat down to wait: Sephiroth was not due for another hour, at least. He had been right, Xehanort reflected grudgingly: this new arrangement had placed him in a far stronger position. The security crisis that followed the night of the ball had created a fertile ground for planting new ideas. Ansem had begun a very public study of the creatures that had appeared that night. Xehanort and the apprentices, on whom most of the work had fallen, had been able to guide his research, letting him know only what they wanted him to know. They had even managed to introduce the name Heartless into common usage. Similarly, the creation of SOLDIER, Sephiroth's new counter-Heartless unit, had been swiftly approved and effected. The first list, drawn randomly from the Training Corps, had arrived the day before. Xehanort could see scope for months, even years of experimentation ahead of him.

Xehanort raised his head. Sephiroth was standing in the doorway at the far end of the laboratory. He did not wait for an invitation but strode in, an easy confidence in his walk. Even fell alongside him, as Xehanort had instructed, to explain the procedure. Sephiroth neither looked nor spoke to him.

Ienzo now stepped forward to take his great coat and sword. Ienzo was careful to place them close and in full view. Sephiroth then mounted the step in front of the machine. He turned and allowed Dilan and Aeleus to bind him to it. Leather straps held his head, arms and legs in place. Then the probes were attached to key areas of his body. To the right of the machine proper, Even activated the monitor. Braig extended the arm, the three-toed instrument poised above Sephiroth's chest. The whole operation was conducted in total silence. It had the solemnity of a gallows or funeral parlour. Sephiroth, however, seemed oblivious to the unease. He smiled slightly as he was strapped down. There was a security bordering on arrogance in his attitude.

"Ready?" Xehanort asked him, taking the arm from Braig. Sephiroth gave a slight nod. Xehanort gripped the arm more firmly. With a deep breath, he pushed it down hard onto Sephiroth's chest. The machine began to hum softly.

"Initial readings are… good," said Even, bent low over the monitor, "Isolating his heartbeat now"

Braig took the arm from Xehanort, who stood back to watch the operation. Sephiroth seemed to be in some discomfort, but nothing like the agony the apprentices had experienced from their initial experiments. What sort of man was this, Xehanort wondered?

The experiment progressed well. The heartbeat, very strong, was quickly isolated. Then began the difficult task of separating the darkness from the greater mass of the heart and then stimulating it. About a quarter of an hour into the experiment, Even spoke:

"This is… strange."

"What?" said Xehanort, immediately on edge.

"These readings," said Even, thoughtfully "They're… abnormal."

"In what way?" Xehanort snapped.

"His progress. It's phenomenal! It took weeks to cultivate this much darkness in some hearts."

"Perhaps we should stop," Braig suggested "Don't want to give him too much juice in one go, right?"

The monitor trilled a warning note. The screen flashed red.

"This… this is incredible!" said Even, eyes shining as his fingers danced across the keyboard "How can one heart hold so much darkness? This is beyond anything we've seen…"

"Stop! Close it down, you fool!" Xehanort yelled, moving to Even's side. On the machine, Sephiroth was beginning to shake, as if in the midst of a fit. Wisps of the liquid-gas darkness were beginning to curl out from beneath the arm.

"I can't!" Even cried "These readings… They can't be real! They're off the scale!"

Ienzo dived towards the machine. He elbowed Braig aside and seized the arm with both hands. With a cry, he wrenched it out and back. There was a roar like a thunderclap and a wave of darkness vomited from Sephiroth's chest. Ienzo was hurled across the lab. He landed on a workbench and rolled onto the floor, where he lay unmoving.

Sephiroth stepped forward off the machine. It was as if the leather straps were not even there. The tides of darkness seemed to roll from him like ocean waves off a breaker.

Dilan cast one of his lances at him. Sephiroth did not even seem to move: one moment, he was standing still, the next, he held the lance in his hand. He turned and saw Braig, pistols drawn. Sephiroth stretched out his left arm. The Masamune, as if drawn by invisible ropes, flew from its scabbard to his open hand. Sephiroth leapt forward, across the workbenches, towards Braig. Dilan sprang between them, another lance raised to parry. The force of Sephiroth's stroke shattered the lance and hurled Dilan to the ground, but he was not slain. Braig emptied his pistols at Sephiroth but the darkness rose like a wall around him, consuming the bullets like fire consuming moths. Aeleus cast a tomahawk at Sephiroth, and then closed with him, wielding the second like a hand axe. For a few seconds he kept pace with Sephiroth, their weapons a blur of parry and riposte. A moment later Aeleus was down, bleeding badly from his thigh and shoulder. Xehanort vaulted the monitor, right hand thrust forward.

"Flare!" he yelled. Sephiroth's counter-spell hurled Xehanort's attack back at him. Xehanort dived aside as it struck. It tore the machine to pieces, churning up the floor and ceiling around it. The laboratory lights flared and died in a cascade of sparks.

Xehanort was on his feet in a heartbeat. He could barely see in this new gloom but the smell of darkness that clung to Sephiroth was so pungent he did not need to. He heard Sephiroth scream something: maybe a spell, but it seemed that his lips were unable to form the words. A wave of purple fire came rolling towards Xehanort.

"Reflega!" he cried, summoning his most potent shields. The wave of fire curled round him like a twister and back on Sephiroth.

It was only afterwards that Xehanort realised what happened next. Sephiroth, consciously or not, had attempted to counter the dark fire with another dark spell. All he remembered was the roar and the smell of the dark. A great mass of the liquid-gas substance, black even against the absence of light, loomed large before him. For a brief moment Xehanort thought he could see the figure of Sephiroth spread-eagled against it.

The next thing that Xehanort remembered was the sound of footsteps on the stairs. He raised himself up and looked round. The laboratory was a wreck. Whole sections of the roof had collapsed, covering the once sterile floor with dust and rubble. The machine was now nothing more than blackened stump of metal. Shards of glass lay everywhere. Shrivelled hearts floated like islands in the pools of preservative liquid that oozed through the debris.

It was only when his gaze happened to pass over the bloodied Aeleus that Xehanort remembered his fellow apprentices. His eyes swept the wreckage again: only he had remained conscious. Aeleus and Braig were both bleeding badly. The other three were unconscious, lying half buried beneath the rubble. Of Sephiroth, there was no sign.

"What… what have you done?"

Xehanort looked up. Ansem was standing at the foot of the stairs, his face a deathly white.

"M-master…" Xehanort stammered, struggling to his feet.

"What is all this?" Ansem asked, his voice hoarse.

Xehanort began to explain: slowly, hesitantly at first but swiftly growing stronger, more impassioned.

"We… we have continued your experiments, master. We… wished to help! You will… you will not believe the progress we have made! We have learned so much about the heart. And in so short a time: it's astounding!"

As he spoke, Xehanort found himself articulating theories he had barely even touched upon before: about the darkness, and the Heartless, and the heart of all worlds that lay beyond the Door that he had opened.

"The Heartless search for the darkness in people's hearts!" he said, his whole face afire with the excitement of new discoveries "And the Heartless are searching for that place beyond the Door. It must be the heart of this world: it's the _only_ conclusion! And that's what we must search for too: the world beyond the Door. It may even lead to other worlds! Can you imagine: the power to visit other worlds? And what if there is an even greater power at the heart of all worlds? What could we not do with such power?!"

While Xehanort had been speaking, Ansem had sunk down onto a pile of rubble, head in his hands. When Xehanort mentioned the heart of all worlds, he looked up sharply:

"No, Xehanort, no! This stops now, you hear? You will abandon this… this foolishness, now!"

"But, Master Ansem…"

"I say no!" Ansem roared, on his feet now, shaking with rage and fear "Can you not see what you have done? What you are becoming? This darkness that you have studied: it has begun to consume you. I am ordering you to stop now, before it is too late!

"You will help me carry the others up to the castle," Ansem ordered, his voice softer now "Then I shall put a seal on this place."

"Master, please…"

"Silence, Xehanort!" Ansem cried, voice choked with tears, "It is over! You will destroy all your data. You will never speak of this again: no one is to know what has happened here. That is my order!"

Xehanort tried to clutch his hand, but Ansem turned on his heel and back to the stairs. Xehanort could hear him sobbing even as he closed the door behind him.

* * *

_Hi all! As always, I'm asking you to review with any praise or criticism you might have about this chapter._


	11. Chapter 10

Chpater 10

It was early morning and Ansem was alone in his study. He was standing straight backed, examining a bookshelf towards the rear of the room. Around the walls, on top of the bookcases, were the few surviving jars of preserved hearts. It would have been barbaric to simply dispose of them with the rest of the waste, so Ansem had instructed that they be kept in storage until he could arrange a proper burial for them.

To an observer, Ansem would have appeared the very picture of strong, assured authority. Nothing could have been further from the truth. It was only his pride that compelled him to put up this front. He believed, or rather hoped, that if his body could remain firm his heart would do likewise. Oh, how he wished that that could be true.

The discovery of his apprentices' experiments had wounded Ansem more deeply than he could have ever thought possible. The knowledge that the young men he knew so well, some since boyhood, could be capable of such terrible things was nothing less than astounding. How could have been so mistaken? Was it something he had done? Could it be that he, universally known as 'Ansem the Wise', had unknowingly led his own apprentices into such depths of darkness?

Ansem stifled a sob. Yes, there was no escaping it: the responsibility lay with him. He was their master. He had begun the experiments. He had constructed the facility with which the apprentices had very nearly brought about their own downfall. Now his world and his people were at risk, through his own folly. What could he do? How could they trust him to protect them after what he had done? How could he trust himself?

The communication panel on the desk startled Ansem out of these melancholy thoughts. It was Laguna. He sounded very wary.

"My lord, we have two… visitors down at headquarters. They say they want to talk to you."

"Visitors?" said Ansem, irritably.

"Yes, m'lord. They say they're from… out of town."

"Where exactly? Which province?" Ansem snapped. He was not in the mood to deal with petty affairs of state.

"They won't tell me… They say they will only talk to you." said Laguna carefully. Ansem's irritation subsided as his curiosity bubbled to the surface.

"Send them up, Laguna. I could use the distraction"

* * *

Ten minutes later, Ansem opened his study door to receive his visitors. Laguna had warned him that their appearance was a little odd. Ansem now realised how massive an understatement that had been. They resembled giant, bipedal animals with large, intelligent faces. The first was a black-furred mouse with huge round ears perched on the very top of its head. It was dressed like a man, in a suit of red and black with huge yellow trainers on its feet. The second, following the mouse at a respectful distance, was a white duck wearing a top hat and a blue frockcoat. Neither animal stood more than four feet high.

"Ansem the Wise, it is an honour" said the mouse, bowing so low that its long snout touched the carpet. It had a very high falsetto voice, with the strangest touch of nobility about it. The effect was quite charming.

"It is I am who am honoured, Mr…" said Ansem, returning the bow.

"Mickey. And this, is Scrooge McDuck" said the mouse, indicating his companion.

"A pleasure t'make your acquaintance," said the duck, shaking Ansem by the hand. It had a very strong accent that Ansem did not recognise.

"My lord Ansem, I come before ye t' make a wee business proposition," said Scrooge McDuck.

"Now, if ye'll just hear me out," he said, reaching into his frockcoat, "I think ye'll be pleasantly surprised."

From inside his coat, he produced a stick of pale blue ice cream.

"Go ahead, try it," said Scrooge, offering it to Ansem. Ansem reached out and received it gingerly. He gave the ice cream a tentative lick. The taste was very strange: salty, yet sweet. He could not remember having tasted it before.

"This is… good. Very good," he said, taking another, more enthusiastic lick, "What is the flavour?"

"Sea salt, m' lord."

"Hmm. You will have to give me the recipe" said Ansem between licks.

"Och, I'm afraid I cannae do that m'lord," Scrooge said apologetically, "I'm a businessman an' I'm sure ye'll appreciate that I cannae go round givin' away all me trade secrets. It'd ruin me!

"But I'll tell ye what I will do! If you'll let me set up shop down in the town, I'll make sure that ye're never short of sea salt ice cream for as long as ye wish. A 75 discount! Now ye cannae say fairer than that, can ye?"

"No, no indeed," Ansem chuckled, "By all means sell this, this _delectable_ ice cream to the people. I shall have some of my servants assist you."

Ansem spent the next half an hour arranging vending permits, licences, assistants and transport for Scrooge to set up his ice cream parlour. Ansem gave him a prime spot on the corner of the marketplace. All the while, Mickey stood in the corner of the room, not speaking, taking in everything with his huge bright eyes. When Scrooge McDuck had finally bowed his way out of Ansem's study with promises of crates of sea salt ice cream delivered by dawn, Ansem at last turned to address the mouse.

"So, what business do you have with me, my friend?" he asked, seating himself behind his desk. Mickey stepped forward into the centre of the study.

"I assume that you did not travel across the stars merely to sell me ice cream, no matter how delicious it may be," said Ansem, taking another lick.

"No, you're right," said Mickey.

"So, you _are_ from another world," said Ansem thoughtfully.

"Yep," Mickey nodded, "although strictly speaking, I'm not supposed to go round tellin' folks. The World Order must be protected."

"The World Order?" said Ansem curiously, "To my people that is a part of theoretical physics. Yet you tell me that is more?"

"Much more," said Mickey, his falsetto voice curiously grave.

Mickey began to explain to Ansem. About the worlds, and the invisible barriers between them. He explained how the barriers were made of a substance known as 'gummi' and how, if properly manipulated, it could be used to construct vessels for travelling between the worlds. It was on one such vessel that Mickey had travelled from his own castle to Ansem's.

"Pray, stop a moment," said Ansem, raising his hand, "You tell me that you are a king in your world?"

"Yep," said Mickey, without the faintest trace of either embarrassment or snobbery.

"I apologise, your majesty" said Ansem, rising to bow properly. The King waved one large, white-gloved hand.

"Nah, don't worry about it. We're pals, right? Besides, aren't you a king yourself?"

So it was that Ansem explained to the King about his own world and his history. How the world had once been a place of fear and darkness, where terrible beasts preyed on the innocent and people were ruled by the tyranny of monsters. He explained how he had formed a band of adventurers and begun his lifelong quest to liberate the people of his world, of the war and the terrible sacrifices made by so many. The conversation then turned to the founding of the city, of its many beautiful gardens and the buildings.

Ansem then asked the King about his own castle and his own history. The King was reluctant to go into details about his early life, saying simply that he had been, like everyone at that age, arrogant and foolish. At further prompting, it was revealed that he had sought out the tutelage of the great sorcerer Yen Sid. Ansem was amazed: the name Yen Sid was known in his world, but only as the author of some of the most arcane spells. To learn that this mysterious figure was an actual living man was astonishing. However, the King would say little more about his master. Of his present journey, however, he was full of enthusiasm.

"Y' see," he began, "travellin' between worlds like this hasn't been possible for a long time. The time before the worlds were closed off is only remembered in legends and fairy tales."

"Yes. Yes, we have tales like those in my world."

"Well, all that's changin' now. The barriers are breakin' down into gummi meteors. Something's tearin' 'em apart."

"Something? Then you do not know what?"

"Nope. An' that's why I'm journeyin': to find out."

"And Scrooge? He is your companion?"

"Yeah…" The King looked a little embarrassed, "Well… y'know, he's kinda hard to say no to. We've known each other so long an' all. It's not that he's not worried 'bout the worlds, it's just that… he's kinda more interested in makin' munny."

Ansem laughed.

"An uninvited guest, as it were?"

"Yeah," said the King with a laugh.

"Tell me," said Ansem, leaning forward "can this 'gummi ship' only take you to worlds whose barriers have been broken down?"

"Normally, yeah," said the King "but Master Yen Sid gave me this."

The King raised his right arm out in front of him. There was a flash of bright light and something appeared in the King's hand. It looked like a strange fusion between a sword and a key. It had a silver 'blade', with a bright yellow guard around the handle.

"This is a Keyblade," the King explained, "I can use it to unlock the doors between the worlds whose barriers are still intact."

"A Keyblade…" Ansem breathed softly "So these legends are also true…"

"Uh-huh," Mickey nodded. With another flash, the Keyblade vanished.

"It's kinda funny," the King said "but wherever I go, there're always stories about the Keyblade. Seems like every world's got its own Keyblade legends. Some good, some bad. Some say it fights the darkness, others that it brings chaos."

"Are you then the fabled Chosen Wielder?"

"Nope," the King shook his head "Master Yen Sid wouldn't tell me where he got it, but he said that I was to hold onto it until the Keyblade decided it was time to choose its next Master."

"Fascinating…" said Ansem, sinking back into his chair.

"So, d' you have any idea what might be breakin' down these barriers?" the King asked. Ansem shook his head. He paused.

"Wait. I may… have something to tell you."

Haltingly, and with great difficulty, Ansem began to explain. About the experiments and the Heartless and Xehanort's words about doors and the hearts of worlds. The King did not speak once during the whole tale. He merely stood, a slight frown of concentration on his face, drinking it all in.

"So…" the King said when Ansem had finally finished, "maybe these Heartless have got somethin' to do with the barriers breakin' down."

"It is possible," Ansem sighed.

"I am glad we had I'm glad we have the opportunity to speak like this, my friend," he continued "I'm intrigued by your hypothesis... and I'm finding it difficult to stave off the urge to test it. Still, I'm concerned about the stability of the worlds."

"Yep, that's what worries me too" said Mickey sadly, his giant ears drooping forward slightly.

"The doors that appeared… the place the Heartless seek" Ansem mused.

"I'm afraid my research may have brought this upon us…" he said grimly, resting his head in his hands.

There was a knock at the door. Ansem looked up. Mickey turned. Without waiting for a reply, Xehanort stepped into the study.

"Master Ansem, regarding that experiment I presented the other day…" he began. Why was he using these euphemisms, Ansem wondered? Was it for the benefit of the King? Or was he trying to smooth the waters between himself and Ansem? How long had he been out there? How much had he heard?

"… with your permission, I'd like to proceed with -- " Xehanort continued, but Ansem cut him off.

"I forbid it!" he cried, starting to his feet and banging his fist down on the table.

"Forget this talk of doors, and the heart of all worlds," Ansem said, his voice softer, more paternal now "That place must not be defiled."

"But Master Ansem, I've been thinking – " Xehanort said but again he was cut off by Ansem.

"Xehanort," he said with a shake of his head "Those thoughts are best forgotten."

For a moment it looked like Xehanort was going to continue arguing but he merely bowed, stiffly and walked backwards out of the room, closing the door behind him.

* * *

_Hi all. Just the usual note asking you to please review with any praise or criticism you might have about this chapter, or the story in general. Thank you!_


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Xehanort staggered along the corridor, stumbling from doorway to doorway. He felt nauseous: too many ideas, too many new feelings to take in. His mind had never felt so clear and yet he did not seem to be able hold on to any one thought.

He had not heard all of Ansem's conversation with the visitor but he had grasped the most essential fact: the visitor was from another world. His theories were vindicated. A whole new realm of possibilities opened before Xehanort. It was like the opening of a flower: each layer appearing more terrible and entrancing than the last.

The stranger had mentioned something else: the Keyblade. Xehanort dredged his memories of the castle library, assembling every reference to the legend he had ever read. The Keyblade had the power to open any lock, it was said. It holds phenomenal power. He had opened the door beneath the castle and a visitor from another world arrives, bringing tales of the Keyblade. Xehanort was sure of it: this could not be coincidence. The Keyblade, the door, the heart of all worlds: they must all be connected.

So what to do? He must find this world beyond the door, the place the Heartless seek; that much was obvious. How to accomplish it, though? The Keyblade. He must find the Keybearer. To open the door he would need a key, the greatest key ever made. So, the question: how to find the Keybearer?

What did he know about the Keybearer? There were few details. Only that his heart would be strong… and true. His heart? The Princesses! Yes: they were always there in the legends, together. One Keybearer and Seven Maidens of the Purest Heart: the Princesses of Heart. That was the link, he was sure of it!

So, Xehanort reflected eagerly, my path is clear: find the Princesses and he would find the Keybearer. Experimentation would get him no further. He must now use what he had discovered to seek a greater knowledge.

How to go about this, then? Should he try to convince Ansem? Surely even he could not fail to see… but it was too late. Ansem refused to see the truth. He had refused to see the necessity of Xehanort's early experiments; how much greater would his resistance be to this step, a step far greater than any yet taken.

The time for secrecy was past. This new path could not be one of half-measures and clandestine experiments. Xehanort knew with a terrible certainty that the moment had come: he must remove Ansem. The man who had set his feet on this path was now an obstacle, an impediment to greater discoveries. This must be accomplished first of all: he, Xehanort, must be supreme.

Of course he could not do it openly. The other apprentices would not be persuaded and, even if they were, they would soon be discovered and then not even Xehanort could avoid the reprisals that would surely follow. He needed someone else: someone new, someone unconnected to him or his work. Someone, above all, that he could control. How to find that someone, though…

Xehanort looked up from where he was half-crouched in an alcove. There was the sound of tearing; a soft and mellow sound, as if someone had taken the thinnest of knives and slit the very air of the corridor in two. For a second Xehanort thought someone had left the door across from the alcove open. He immediately realised his mistake: there was no room beyond this door. Only darkness: thick, swirling liquid-gas darkness. Wisps of it snaked out across the floor and walls.

Where had the portal come from, Xehanort wondered? Had he called it up himself? He must have done, for he felt sure with the certainty that had driven him on ever since that first, distant experiment, that beyond that portal lay the heart he was seeking: a heart as dark and malleable as he could wish for. With little thought to the danger or the consequences, he stepped into the portal.

That was the end of Xehanort. Something continued in his place, as like him in voice and appearance to be mistaken for him, but it was not. Nothing pure or noble dwelt in its heart. Only shadow remained.

* * *

Maleficent sat stiffly in the high backed chair, a glass of brandy cradled in her hand. After several minutes silent contemplation she spoke into the shadows of her chamber:

"The door is locked, and guarded by six of my minions. They are still alive; I can hear them.

"This tower is forty feet high, and beneath that is a gorge. You could not have climbed it. There is of course the possibility that you can fly, but the window is barred with iron, and has not been forced. Neither has the grate across the chimney.

"That leaves only magic. I detected no spells. None of my wards have been broken. Therefore I can only conclude that you are both a mighty and subtle sorcerer: a rare combination indeed."

"You are most perceptive," spoke a voice from the shadows. It was deep and rich: a man's voice, for certain. Its self-confidence lent it an easy, almost lazy charm.

"Perhaps you would come out so that we may speak face-to-face," suggested Maleficent. A figure in a shapeless brown robe appeared in the shadows between the bed and the wardrobe. Maleficent frowned slightly: there had been no footsteps, no sound of any kind. One moment there was nothing, the next the figure was there. His face was hidden in the folds of a cowl.

"I suppose this is the closest we will get," said Maleficent, a wry smile passing across her long, pale face. The figure did not speak.

Maleficent considered him. To fight was out of the question. This being had penetrated her most potent wards undetected: its battle magic was sure to be equally potent. There was no help to be found from her servants: a weak and craven pack to a man. Therefore she must play the diplomat.

"Why do you come to my chamber, and at such a late hour?" she asked in her most courteous tones.

"I come from the darkness," the figure replied. Maleficent raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"From the darkness? Then, are you from the world beyond the door?"

"I am."

Maleficent wondered at this. She had found the door deep in the mountains, hidden in a long forgotten cave. She had travelled there, at great peril, seeking power: power to revenge the insults done upon her; power to satisfy the lusts that had gnawed away at her these many years.

She had not reckoned, however, on what had lain beyond the door. It had frightened her; overawed her. It was all she had been able to do to heave the door closed again, to block out that terrible light. When she had returned she could find no trace of the door. She had assumed it lost.

"You know then of the power that lies beyond the door?" Maleficent asked the stranger.

"You understand… much" said the stranger thoughtfully. It paused for a moment, as if considering her.

"One who understands much may understand the truth."

"The truth?"

"The one truth: the eternal constant, the source of all power."

"Tell me!"

Maleficent leant forward in her chair slightly, eyes glittering with ambition.

"Darkness" said the figure. It savoured the word, drew it out, let it roll across the chamber.

"Darkness," the figure repeated, "the source of all hearts. From darkness they rose and to darkness they will return. In the darkness of the heart there lies power, and knowledge. And the greatest power and the greatest knowledge lie in the greatest of all hearts: the heart of all worlds."

"Yes, yes," said Maleficent softly. She did not fully understand the figure but something deeper than reason, something in her chest and her gut thrilled at his words.

"How does one find this heart?" she asked, "Does it lie beyond the door?"

"No. The door to that heart is hidden. It must be sought."

"Where do I begin?"

Some part of Maleficent, a part long silent during her years of wickedness, wondered at the suddenness of her question. She knew nothing of this stranger, or of the darkness of which he spoke. He could be dangerous, an enemy luring her into a trap. Maleficent was used to this dissenting voice however and had little difficulty in crushing it. Her ambition and her greed were burning strong, and they would not be held back.

"To begin you must have a stronghold: a place from which you may strike out in strength," said the stranger.

"I have my tower," said Maleficent, gesturing idly to their surroundings with her free hand.

"Forgive me, but this heap of stones is not fitting for one such as you," said the figure, with a small bow. The flattery was blatant but Maleficent's vanity still warmed to it.

"The mistress of all evil deserves nothing less than a fortress," the figure continued. 'The mistress of all evil': Maleficent liked that.

"You refer to the castle of King Stefan?" she said "Or perhaps to that of the other fool, King Hubert?"

"I speak of the greatest fortress in all the worlds," the figure said "It lies not within the boundaries of this world but in another star."

"It is a mighty castle, no doubt," the figure continued "but it is assailable; to one who commands the Heartless."

The figure raised its right arm. A circle of short, stubby creatures rose from the floor around Maleficent. They were black like the night sky, with great luminous yellow eyes and insect-like antenna.

Maleficent cried out in alarm. With a flash of green fire, a long golden staff appeared in her free hand.

"Be still!" the figure commanded, instantly mollifying her.

"They will not harm you," the figure explained "not while I command them."

"Can this power be learnt?" Maleficent asked, studying the creatures warily.

"Indeed. Only the strong of heart may master them, but once they are bent to your will you will find the Heartless make the most able minions."

Maleficent stood up. She was a tall woman, made even more imposing by her headdress styled into two long horns. Her dark robes, slashed with purple, completed the effect of stately menace.

"Come," she said imperiously "time is short. My future domain awaits me."

The figure stepped aside. With an odd tearing sound, a tall portal appeared in the space where he had been stood: a hole of deeper darkness against the shadow. Without a pause in her stride, Maleficent stepped through and out of her world.

* * *

"Well… goodnight"

"Goodnight," said Rinoa, a little frostily. Squall took a tentative step forwards. He bent down to kiss her cheek. She turned her head aside.

"Good _night_, Squall" she said.

"Good… night"

He watched from the gate as she walked up the drive to her door. He saw Angelo leap down from the porch to run barking around her legs. She squatted down to scratch him behind the ears. Taking hold of his collar, she stood up and led him back inside. Not once did she look back.

Squall sighed. It was just after sundown and the crystal lamps that lined the road were just beginning to glow. Squall moved slowly down the pavement, kicking stones ahead of him as he went.

What does she expect, he wondered angrily? He flicked another pebble out of the gutter and sent it skittering away into the shadows. How was he supposed to ignore Cloud's behaviour?

The evening had started well enough. The double date had been organised over the boys' heads, but as neither of them wanted to provoke a fight with their girlfriend they had agreed to come along. Rinoa and Aerith had chosen a popular restaurant on the north side of the city.

Squall had picked up Rinoa from her house and walked down with her. To mark their one month anniversary, he had bought her a present: a new coat. It was sky blue with a pattern of white wings on the back. She had been thrilled with it and insisted on running back inside to change her outfit to match it.

This meant that Squall was already tetchy when they arrived, half an hour late, at the restaurant. Cloud said nothing but it was obvious that he saw the late arrival as an insult. The two boys had not seen each other since the incident in the cafeteria. Cloud's new duties as part of SOLDIER, on top of his regular training, kept him so busy that his spare time was practically nonexistent, but the boys had not gone out of their way to find one another.

The girls tried their best to get them to talk but all they got were one-word answers. So they had given up and had begun chatting to each other, making the occasional biting comment about stubborn men or pig ignorant boys. For their part, Cloud and Squall had concentrated on eating and avoiding the other's eyes.

Squall wanted the whole stupid mess to be over but he was determined not to apologise. Cloud had reacted out of all proportion, Squall thought. Besides, how could he help being jealous: there wasn't as if there was anything distinguishing about Cloud. If anything, Squall felt he was _better _than Cloud; at least at certain things. At least _he _didn't get travelsick. He got in trouble a lot less than Cloud too. At least, Cloud was always the one who got _him_ into trouble.

It probably would not have helped if Squall had known that similar thoughts were going through Cloud's head at the same time. If anything, it would have made Squall even more determined not to apologise; not until Cloud admitted that he was totally in the wrong.

The meal had ended under a dark cloud, with both Rinoa and Aerith seething mad at their boyfriends. Squall smiled as he turned the corner and began to walk down towards his neighbourhood: he was sure that Aerith would have given Cloud the cold shoulder at the front door, too. The feeling of solidarity this created was all too brief: Squall refused to be the one to back down first. Let Cloud do it, he thought, he's the one who started it.

* * *

Ansem touched the hidden panel on the wall of his study. The section of wall glowed white for an instant, then vanished, as if it had never been there. Ansem stepped through and began to descend the spiral staircase. He reached up and mopped his brow with the tail end of his scarf.

Why am I so nervous, he wondered? His mind returned to the meeting out in the woods, barely an hour ago. There, in the shadow of the strange rocket-ship, he had knelt and embraced his friend the King.

"I am most sorry that you cannot stay," he had said.

"An' I'm sorry you can't come with me," the King had replied.

"I envy you. Your queen must be an extraordinary woman indeed."

"Yeah, she is," the King had said, with a wistful look in his eyes.

The King was halfway up the ladder to the cockpit when he had paused. Turning back, he spoke to Ansem. His voice was low and grave:

"When you get back to your castle, check your laboratory again."

Ansem had asked why, but the King would say nothing more, only:

"Just a hunch, that's all"

Why am I so afraid, Ansem wondered as he reached the foot of the staircase? He had not been to the laboratory since the incident last week. What was here that he should fear it so? Slowly, it dawned on Ansem: the true question. What depths did he fear his apprentices had sunk to? The fact that he could even suspect them of such a thing was terrible in itself.

The ruins of the laboratory lay exactly as he had left them. Already they were covered in a thin film of dust. Ansem tried the light switch: nothing. He raised his hand, a simple illumination spell playing between his fingers. Picking his way through the rubble and broken glass, he headed for the far end of the laboratory. Thankfully, the central computer terminal had not been damaged during the fight. Something like gut instinct told Ansem to start there.

He had just logged on when something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Turning, he saw a thin red volume that had been left slotted between the keyboard and the desk proper. Picking it up, he opened it at the title page:

--- A Report Concerning the Heart and the Darkness That Dwells Within It---

Beneath it was the author's name:

--- Ansem ---

Ansem frowned. This was identical to the title of _his_ report. But that was in his desk drawer in the study, upstairs. He turned the page. The first section was identical. It appeared to have been copied word for word. However, he had only completed two sections. This volume contained eight.

Ansem read on, in mounting horror. They were recorded here, so detailed as to be obscene: his apprentices' experiments. Not just on themselves, either. They had taken others; civilians, even children. There was no mistaking that bold, distinctive hand. Ansem had helped its author rediscover it as he recovered from his amnesia: Xehanort's.

Ansem's legs buckled beneath him. Tears rolled down his face.

"How… how could I not…" he sobbed. Then he noticed. At the bottom of each section, the author had signed his name. Each time it was the same:

--- Ansem ---

* * *

_Hey all, just the author here asking you to review to tell me what you liked about this, what you didn't and any improvement you think I could make._

_Also, a note about a revision I have made. I recently came across a scan from the official walkthrough for _Kingdom Hearts II – Final Mix +_. It contains information about the Organization, including the correct translation of their Others' names. It appears that the attempt to correct a mistranslation in the English version was itself a mistake: Lexaeus's Other was named Aeleus, not Elaeus. I have been through the previous chapters and attempted to correct this but it's over 28,000 words so chances are I've missed a few! From now on, the character will be referred to by his proper name. I'm telling you all this just so you don't get confused! Just to clarify: the character Elaeus is now called Aeleus. Nothing else has changed about him, just the name._

_Thank you!_


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The apprentices shuffled their feet nervously. They had not returned to the laboratory since Sephiroth's disappearance several weeks ago; no one had. No one; except Xehanort.

They had hardly seen him all week, except for his occasional trips up to the library. None of them had approached him. No one said anything, but they all knew: they could see it in each other's glances. They were all scared of him.

The hidden door vanished; Xehanort stood in the opening. When he spoke, his voice had an edge to it that had not been there before:

"Come in, my friends."

One by one, the other apprentices shuffled inside. The rough-hewn stone corridors were gone, replaced by shining steel, humming faintly with the sound of hidden machinery.

"You've been… busy," said Ienzo.

"Yes," said Xehanort as he led them deeper into the laboratory, "I have made several modifications to the Operating System. The construction programme is _much _more efficient."

The corridor turned a corner. The apprentices let out a gasp. Even the taciturn Aeleus could not conceal his amazement. The central computer terminal now overlooked a vast chamber, many times the size of the original laboratory. The far wall was a single, bright neon light. The side walls were lined with innumerable nodules, each one about the size of a grown man, glowing bright pink. In the centre of the chamber, just below the terminal, six huge arms were hung poised above a platform. On the platform was a red circle, with four smaller circles at each corner.

"What is it?" asked Dilan, leaning across the computer terminal to get a better view from the window.

"Power" said Xehanort simply. The other apprentices gave an involuntary shudder: there was something new in Xehanort's voice, in his very presence, which was strangely unsettling.

"Observe," said Xehanort, tapping out a sequence of commands on the keyboard. Down in the chamber, one of the six arms began to hum. The aerial on its tip crackled with power. There was a flash of light and a beam of energy shot from the aerial into the centre of one of the smaller red circles. A cloud of darkness, interlaced with lightning, appeared on the circle. The cloud swirled, twisted and solidified. A perfectly formed Heartless now stood in the centre of the circle.

"It's a matter transporter!" said a wide-eyed Even.

"Better: it is a Heartless Creator," Xehanort replied. The other apprentices stared at him, open-mouthed.

"It is a simple device, really" he said idly, "The raw material is darkness itself. The machine merely condenses it."

"What's that on its chest?" asked Braig, pointing to the Heartless. It appeared to be a badge of some kind: a red heart, crossed by four red lines.

"An emblem," Xehanort explained, "to mark out our creations from the Purebloods."

Xehanort reached into his lab coat. He produced a thin stack of cards, covered in technical script.

"Here," he said, handing the cards to Braig, "instructions for operating the machine and some basic models for you to practice with. Once you have mastered them, I will deliver the more complex patterns."

"Yes, Ansem," said Braig, receiving the cards with a slight bow.

The apprentices listened reverently as Xehanort outlined his plans: Maleficent would summon the Emblem Heartless to a distant province, to prevent suspicion falling on the apprentices. Xehanort then calmly recited the plan of campaign: where and when the attacks were to fall, how many people he expected the Heartless to take, and how many he expected to escape. When Even tentatively asked if any test subjects were to be gathered, Xehanort started, as if surprised to be interrupted, and glared furiously at him. Even slunk back.

"The experiments are over," said Xehanort, "we must now put what we have learned into practice. We go to war."

* * *

"_They're… they're not human!… Great eyes… like lamps… Out of the storm… Militia… All dead!… Walls… doors…can't stop them…Women… children… on ahead… Outside now…Not much longer… Tell Lord Ansem…Send help! Now! Oh… they're… now! Sell your lives dearly, men!"_

The voice broke off, replaced by the sound of gunfire. General Beatrix reached over and switched the recording off. She rose to address the assembled officers:

"That, gentlemen, was the last message this castle received from the town of Timber. It was logged at 19:00 hours yesterday evening. Nothing has been heard since."

"You know me, gentlemen," she continued, her voice carrying easily down the length of the long table, "I am not one given to flights of rhetoric, or exaggerations. So you know that I speak the honest truth when I tell you that this land faces its greatest threat since the defeat of Weapon."

A grim look settled on the faces around the table. Few had suspected that the situation was quite so serious. Colonel Zack raised his hand.

"General," he said, "where's Lord Ansem, and General Sephiroth? We've heard rumours but…"

"Laguna," said Beatrix, taking her seat. Further along the table, Laguna Loire stood up. He had the drawn, red-eyed face of a man who has seen little sleep recently. His voice strained slightly as he spoke:

"General Sephiroth has not been seen for nearly a month now. Four weeks ago, the high command received a memo for Lord Ansem. It said that Lord Ansem had tasked the general with a mission directly relating to Lord Ansem's study of the Heartless threat, and that it was vital that no attempt be made to contact the general. Nothing has been heard of him since.

"A week later, Lord Ansem vanished. He was last seen returning to his chambers late one evening. A thorough search of his room found no evidence of a struggle, or any unusual activity. My agents have searched both the castle and the city. No one has had any communication with Lord Ansem since that time."

There was much dark muttering at this. Now it was General Caraway's turn to speak:

"In response to this extraordinary crisis, General Beatrix and I have assumed control of the Radiant Garden's armed forces, with Colonel Steiner acting as General-elect in General Sephiroth's absence."

This was greeted with approving murmurs and nods. Caraway continued in his clipped, military manner:

"In light of the recording you have just heard, and similar reports we have received from numerous other provinces, I am sure you will agree with me that the Heartless threat is much greater than was previously assumed. In fact, I do not think it would be an exaggeration to say that these recent attacks constitute an invasion of our sovereign territory."

This was greeted with more dark mutterings. Colonel Steiner, resplendent in full plate armour, stood up to speak:

"Intelligence on the Heartless is sketchy. We can only guess at their numbers and their capabilities. We do know that they are numerous: in the past twenty-four hours they have struck over a dozen provinces, simultaneously. Even as we speak, refugees from every corner of the land are arriving at our gates. If you will turn your attention to this map."

The tabletop flickered. A three-dimensional, holographic map of the provinces appeared in front of the officers.

"These red stains," Steiner said, indicating a dozen blotches on the map, "indicate Heartless forces. Observe how they are deployed, and how they spread. Observe also the location of the Radiant Garden itself."

A tiny holographic representation of the city appeared in the centre of the map. Although still many miles distant, the red stain completely surrounded it.

"It is our belief," said Steiner grimly, "that the Heartless' ultimate goal is to take this city."

"My, you _are _perceptive."

Heads turned in ever direction, but no one could locate the speaker. It was a woman's voice, high and arrogant.

"Who is that?" demanded Colonel Steiner. The disembodied voice spoke again:

"I am the voice from the dark. I am the mistress of those without hearts. I am _Maleficent!_"

On the final word, there was a great burst of green flames in the centre of the table. The officers leapt back, pale faced. The figure of a woman appeared as the fire subsided. She stood, arms thrust high and wide, screeching with laughter.

"You! Are you a Heartless? Speak!" General Beatrix cried, hand on her sword.

"I, a Heartless? Fool," Maleficent sneered, "I _rule_ the Heartless. I am their queen! And future queen of this castle!"

"Queen(!)" said Caraway; "You are mad!"

"Silence, little soldier" Maleficent snarled, a golden staff appearing in her hand in another burst of flame. More hands went to weapons.

"Hold!" Beatrix ordered, "Let her speak!"

"Hear me, little mortals" said Maleficent, slowly turning to address the whole assembly, "Hear me and despair! A darkness is approaching this city: a darkness to blot out all light. Your swords will not save you! Your armies will perish, and your people will fall to ice and shadow. And when the last child is dead, and the shadow rests in ever corner of this city, then I shall sit in this castle, on my throne of thorns: the mistress of all evil!"

Colonel Zack gave a cry and lashed out at Maleficent with his long Buster Sword. Maleficent vanished in another burst of flame, her laughter still ringing in their ears.

"Quick! Call the guard! She may still be somewhere in the castle!" Zack ordered.

"Hold," General Caraway said, hand raised. For a moment there was silence in the room as Caraway, Steiner and Beatrix glanced from one to the other. With a heavy sigh, Beatrix nodded.

"We will send the call to arms," said Beatrix solemnly, "The army, the airfleet, the militia too. Best have cadets ready too, just in case.

"Laguna, we will need your services. How does a Major's commission sound? Call up Braska, Auron: all the old crowd. See if you can get hold of Cid Highwind too, if he hasn't moved out already. We're going to need all the help we can get."

* * *

It was unseasonably cold on the city walls. The wind had picked up and was sweeping the walkway, rattling the militiamen's armour. Squall stamped his feet, raising up a small cloud of ash around his ankles.

He had watched them do it, standing outside the gates of the Corps training complex. Orders had gone out to clear the city wall to make space for the guns. There hadn't been time to move the gardens down into the city, or even dig them up. They had just cut off the water, laid the kindling and set light. The fire caught quickly. It burned for hours, the whole city ringed in flames, blood red against the dusk sky. Then came the morning, and the endless hours of manual labour. Every adult in the city had been conscripted: clearing the walls, carrying ammunition, raising guns. The walkways were still coated with ash, so thick that it stuck to the soles of their boots.

Now it was midday. The sky overhead was grim: flat grey with forbidding, snow-laden clouds on the horizon. There seemed to be little colour anywhere: not in the roofs of the houses, in the river water or on the plains below. Sounds seemed similarly deadened. Squall could hear the preparations of the army below: officers barking orders, squawking chocobos, rattling armour, the rumble of marching feet. It was all muffled, as if heard through a thick wall. Up on the wall there was little conversation. People didn't seem to want to even look at one another. Nervous hands fidgeted with straps and cartridges and rifles. Almost without thinking, Squall checked the weapons at his belt: a stubby 9mm pistol and a long infantry sabre.

"They're fine, Squall," said Tifa irritably, "They'll be the same as they were two minutes ago."

Squall did not reply. He leant forward, placing his hands on the stone parapet. Beside him, Tifa wrapped her arms tight around her body; her loose suit of leathers (the uniform of all unarmed combat specialists) was providing her with little warmth.

"Hey," said a familiar voice to their left. Squall and Tifa turned. Cloud was moving down the walkway towards them. Like Squall, he wore the standard cadet uniform: a plain blue jump suit, overlaid with plate armour. His morion helmet was tilted back from his face. A katana hung at his side.

"Wouldn't let you have a Buster Sword, huh?" Squall said.

"Nah," Cloud shook his head, smiling, "tried to persuade 'em, seeing as I'm SOLDIER and all but…"

Cloud trailed off as he realised what a sore point he had just raised. Squall shrugged. Biting his lip, Cloud spoke:

"Look, about…"

"Forget it."

"But…"

"I doesn't matter," said Squall, staring dead ahead, "not any more. Let's just… just do what needs to be done. We haven't got time for that sort of thing now."

Cloud nodded and took his place beside Squall. Tifa was smiling now, but was careful to make sure that the boys did not notice.

"So… why aren't you with SOLDIER, Cloud?" she asked, deliberately casual, "Don't you have your own unit now or something?"

"I haven't received any special orders," Cloud shrugged, "Cadets and militia to man the walls, and I'm still a cadet."

The three friends grinned. They turned. A murmur was passing down the wall. Then a sudden rumble and the creaking of metal hinges: the gates were opening. Every head craned out from the parapet to get a better of the causeway. Slowly, without song or salute, the army began to leave the city. The infantry went first: little silver dolls with rifles like toothpicks at their shoulders, interspersed with a splash of yellow that indicated a chocobo-drawn field gun. Then the cavalry in single file, lances erect, chocobos swaying slightly as they walked. It took a good hour for them to pass through the gate. By the time the last unit had left, the vanguard had reached the plains.

Now fingers were pointed to the distant hills. Some people cried in alarm. A great murmur rose from the walls, like the buzzing of insects. The hills were black, as if covered in pitch. It looked to Squall like a wave, or floodwaters, spreading slowly around the trees and down onto the flat. The Heartless were before the walls.

"How many are there?" he muttered under his breath.

"I don't know. Thousands, for sure," replied Cloud. Squall looked round. Cloud's expression was stern. Tifa's cheeks were slightly coloured: she was angry.

Down on the plain, the army was drawing itself up into battle formation. From the city walls, they looked like little dark rectangles, cavalry only distinguishable by the faintest dash of yellow. The Heartless did not seem to have a formation, or even recognisable regiments. They moved in one solid mass, swarming across the plain like ants on the warpath.

Squall suddenly became aware that there were fewer heads craning over the parapet. People had turned away. They were looking up towards the castle. More fingers were pointed. A faint hum could now be heard, approaching from the north.

From above the clouds, the airfleet descended. There were too many ships for Squall to count, but there were a hundred capital ships if there was one. The smaller craft clustered close around the capitals. The drone of their propellers was deafening. The people on the walls cheered as they passed overhead, heading down towards the plain.

"Brilliant" Squall breathed.

"What?" said Cloud.

"They're using Sephiroth's Third Strategem!"

Cloud was nonplussed. Squall rolled his eyes: Cloud had never taken much interest in strategic theory.

"It's a tactic Sephiroth developed in the closing years of the war: they're going to use the fleet's bombs to break up the enemy formation into smaller groups, then use the army to pick them off."

"Brutal. I like it" said Cloud with a broad smile.

The air fleet flew low now, the capital ships in single file. It looked as if they were heading for the very centre of the Heartless, perhaps to cut it in two. The first capital ship had just passed over the Garden army when the Heartless swarm began to bubble and heave, like a pan of simmering water. Then, all of a sudden, a cloud of Heartless rose from the greater mass and up, into the air. Squall could just make out their bat-like wings. The Heartless shot straight as arrows for the leading capital ship. For a moment, everything was confusion as the Heartless swarmed across its surface. First a small jet of flame, then another, and then with a screeching cry of tearing metal, the airship began to descend. Slowly at first then, as the engines caught fire, it plummeted down in a cloud of smoke and fire, into the centre of the Heartless. The rest of the fleet scattered, guns crackling, as they were pursued by more of the winged Heartless. A great groan went up from the city walls.

Their initial plan thwarted, the commanders of the Garden army had no choice but to commit their ground forces. On the walls, the battle was a vague blur. They could see little: man, Heartless and chocobo were indistinguishable amidst the smoke and dust. The sound was much clearer, be it the sharp crack of rifles, the thunder of the larger guns, the rumble of a cavalry charge or the strange roar of battle magic. All the while the airships circled the battlefield, guns blazing at the clouds of Heartless that crowded round them. There seemed to be no end to them; no matter how many the ships downed, their numbers never seemed to fall.

Squall, Cloud and Tifa stood mesmerised. It did not seem quite real: less than a mile away men and women were fighting, and dying. They could not say how long they stood, slack-jawed, watching the blurred shapes down on the plain. It was only when they saw the first column of filthy, battered survivors approaching the causeway did the spell snap. The army was retreating. They had lost.

* * *

_Phew! I've wanted to write this chapter for months now. How'd you think it went? Don't worry: Cloud and Squall will get their chance to fight soon enough._

_Please review and let me know what you like, what you don't etc. etc._


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Colonel Zack stepped into the communication centre. Hastily set up in the backroom of a baker's shop, a few streets from the city walls, the equipment had been dumped on and around the ovens. Pale faced radio operators sat perched on stools, one hand clasping the receiver to their ear, the other scribbling furiously on notepaper. Even with the door shut, they had to shout to make themselves heard over the booming guns. A fine shower of dust descended on them with every salvo, as the glass rattled in the windowpanes.

Resting his Buster Sword against the door post, Zack attracted the attention of the nearest guard.

"Hey, gimme your water bottle," Zack ordered. The guard handed the bottle over without a word. Zack took a deep draught and handed it back to the guard with a nod of thanks. A prim medic bustled over; horn-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.

"Colonel, do you require medical attention?" he asked, eyeing Zack's bloodstained uniform.

"Nah, this is someone else's," Zack replied, attempting to brush the worst of it off. The medic nodded sharply and moved away.

"How… how bad is it, sir?" the guard asked. Zack glanced at him. The guard's uniform was still clean and smart; he clearly hadn't been sent to the front.

"I won't lie to you, kid: it's bad," Zack said. He fixed the guard with a firm stare.

"But we went through worse in the war," he said with practised stoicism, "We're still a _long _way from beat yet"

The guard gave an unsure nod, then asked:

"Is it true, sir, about General Beatrix? They say…"

"Yeah, she's dead," said Zack grimly, "And Colonel Steiner, too. It's true: I saw it happen."

The guard turned pale. Zack could see the man's fingers tightening on his rifle.

"Like I said though, we're a long way from beat yet," Zack repeated, "We're keeping those bastard Heartless at arm's length, at least. They're not getting past our artillery."

Which was true enough, Zack reflected. True _for the moment_. The retreat had been swiftly executed and with an acceptable number of casualties. As soon as the last unit was close enough, General Caraway had ordered the city guns to open a full-scale bombardment. The relentless gunfire had created an effective no-man's land between the plains and the causeway. Even when the snows had begun to fall, hiding the plains from view, the guns continued firing into the storm. A few Heartless made it to the walls, but they were easily repelled. Not that this stopped them from advancing.

Zack was still running on adrenaline but he knew, in the back of his mind, that this day would haunt him for years to come. War was nothing new to him, but he had never faced such an implacable foe before. They did not seem to feel pain, or remorse, or concern; even for their fellows. They just carried on, moving and attacking with a singular, mindless urge that was not even animal. Perhaps they are truly heartless, Zack thought.

"Sir," a radio operator's voice brought Zack back into the present, "New orders from HQ, sir."

Zack took the proffered note. Decoded, it read:

'Situation critical. Civilians in imminent danger. All non-combatants to be evacuated to castle without delay.'

Zack signalled to one of the runners waiting by the door.

"Take this to Major Laguna," he ordered, handing the note to the runner, "Tell him to pass it on."

The runner saluted and sprinted out into the street.

_Deep beneath the castle, Xehanort approached the central computer terminal. Reaching into his lab coat, he produced a disc shimmering with blue light. As the other apprentices looked on, he stepped forward and slotted the disc into the drive. He tapped out a short command sequence on the keyboard. A synthesised voice spoke from the computer:_

_"Master Control Programme installation complete. All Radiant Garden Operating System functions appropriated."_

_Xehanort tapped out another command sequence. The computer spoke again:_

_"Command acknowledged. Deactivating town defences."_

Down in the communication centre, everyone froze. Blank, uncomprehending faces turned to the windows. Even the noise of the guns could not mask that heavy rumbling of metal being dragged across stone. Then, suddenly, all was chaos. The radio operators scrabbled for their notebooks as every officer radioed in with the same question:

'Why had the gates opened?'

Zack seized his Buster Sword and rushed into the streets. Up on the walls some of the gunners had stopped firing. Others were running towards the gate to see what had happened. Then Zack heard the screams. Thinking quickly, he seized hold of the nearest lamppost and clambered up. Brushing the snow out of his eyes, he looked south towards the gate. The stone gatehouse seemed to be burning with green fire. Tiny stick-figure men were diving from the ramparts to escape the flames.

The gates had fallen. The enemy was within the walls.

Zack felt the blood pumping in his temple. Something had gone wrong; someone had betrayed them. He leapt down onto the street and seized a passing corporal by the arm.

"You, solider, hold up!" he shouted. He reached up and tore the colonel's insignia from his shoulder.

"Here, take this to Major Laguna. Tell him he's been promoted. His first priority _must _be to get the civilians into the castle. Got that? Now go!"

The corporal stood open-mouthed.

"But… sir," he began, but Zack was already sprinting down the street.

He knew of only one person in the entire city that had the authority to override the security codes placed on the gates: only one person who could have betrayed them. Zack had to find him and stop him, before everything was lost. He had to stop Ansem.

* * *

It was cold when Vincent Valentine woke. He was lying, naked, on bare stone. His flesh burned to touch it. Slowly, he raised his head and tried to look around. He was in total darkness.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, he pressed his hands against the floor and lifted his body up. He screamed and collapsed back. It had happened almost too quickly to be aware of it. As he had raised his head, something seemed to take control of his body, only to retreat a heartbeat later. He could feel it now, sitting in his chest. It was very cold, colder than the stone he lay upon, and unsettling. It was like another mind: alien and jealous.

Carefully, wary of the strange presence in his chest, Vincent tried to raise his head again. The thing moved but this time Vincent was ready for it. He fought it, willing with all his might to keep that horrible controlling influence out of his mind. His chest tightened with the effort. His breath came only in gasps. The thing fought back, so cold that it seemed to burn inside him. Then, all of a sudden, the presence fell back. Vincent could still feel it lurking inside him, somewhere in his breast, but for now he was master.

Looking around, Vincent was surprised how well he could see. His night vision has always been good but at that moment it seemed phenomenal. There was no light that Vincent could see, and yet he was convinced he could make out the contours of a rocky wall ahead of him. Half-walking, half-crawling, he approached the apparition. He reached out with a tentative hand. His vision was true: it was indeed a rock wall.

Vincent cast his eye over his surroundings. He appeared to be on a wide ledge. To his right was a sheer drop that descended out of sight. Ahead and on his left was a path of rough steps, so steep as to be more like a ladder than a stairway. On all other side there was void.

Seeing no other alternative, Vincent began to climb. To his surprise, he found his body to be strong and agile. He climbed swiftly, despite the cold and the steep ascent. At the top was a long tunnel that led Vincent into a warren of dark rock. As he advanced, Vincent realised that he was beneath the castle. He had explored some of these caves before.

'They must have left me here after they had finished with me,' Vincent thought.

He tried to remember what had happened in Ansem's laboratory. He remembered being struck on the head. After that, everything was vague. There was pain: a great deal of pain, the like of which he had never experienced. If they had been torturing him, he could not remember being asked any questions. Only pale faces, hidden in shadow, and white hands wielding strange metal instruments.

Vincent paused. The tunnel to his right had been worked with tools, and quite recently too. He could see where the lasers had cut to make it wider and higher. Turning round, he followed it. The tunnel began to climb gently, leading him higher and higher. At length, after many twists and turns, Vincent found himself at the foot of a spiral staircase, half-concealed behind a giant stalagmite. The steps were dusty; they had not been used for some time.

It was a long climb but to his surprise, Vincent still did not feel either hungry or fatigued. After maybe half an hour, he came up against a blank wall. It was a bare, featureless slab of stone but it did not take long for Vincent's trained eye to discover the release switch.

As the wall slid aside, light poured into the stairwell. For a moment, Vincent thought he had been shot, so great was the pain to his eyes. His legs shook. He swayed back, almost plunging headfirst down the stairs. Throwing himself forward, he stumbled into the room beyond. He struck something hard and metal and fell onto the floor with an almighty crash.

When his eyes had readjusted to the daylight, Vincent discovered that he was not, as he had expected, in the laboratory. This stairway had taken him into a bedroom of white marble, richly and tastefully decorated in dark red hangings. The furniture and king sized bed were of oak. Standing up, Vincent could see that he had accidentally toppled a suit of armour that had stood in front of the secret passage. It was an old design, made in brightly polished brass.

Vincent, using his detective's eye, quickly realised that someone (presumably the room's occupant) had left it in a great hurry. The wardrobe was wide open. The chest at the foot of the bed was likewise open. Lying on the bed was a long case of polished wood. Inside was a long, three-barrelled pistol. Although it was clearly one of a pair, its twin was missing. Cartridges of ammunition lay strewn across the bed.

Vincent now turned to the high, narrow window. From the view outside, Vincent deduced he was somewhere low down in the castle, possibly near the gate. Snow was falling on the city below. It was heavy but not so heavy to hide the flashes of gunfire, nor the streaming lines of soldiers on the city walls. It seemed to Vincent that the night sky had traded places with the land, and that the vastness of the heavens surrounded the city on all sides, twinkling with countless yellow stars.

Vincent stepped back from the window. The people had to be warned. They had to know what was going on in the castle: what sat beneath their very refuge. For a moment he thought of taking the pistol that lay upon the bed and descending to the laboratory again. After a moment's hesitation, he decided against it. He would need help.

His basic plan formed, Vincent equipped himself as best as he was able. From the wardrobe he took a suit of plain black leathers, and a blood red cloak against the cold. On his feet he placed the pointed boots from the suit of armour. He tried to wear the clawed gauntlets too, but found that they could not hold the pistol, so took only the left handed one. Thrusting the three-barrelled pistol into his belt, and pocketing as many cartridges as he could, he advanced cautiously out of the door and into the castle.

* * *

_Hey, sorry there wasn't much action. This is a bit of a bridging chapter to get the characters where I need them for later. Reviews, as ever, are very welcome._


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14 

Rinoa screamed. Aerith, possessing a cooler head, bit her lip and stepped towards the tent flap.

"What happened?" she asked, turning Squall's fringe back from his bloodied forehead. He was pale faced and leaning heavily on Cloud's shoulder.

"It's OK," said Squall gruffly, trying to push Aerith away.

"How did…" Rinoa began.

"He fell," said Cloud, "trying to get off the battlements. Missed his footing on the stairs and cracked his head. It's not even that deep."

Tifa stepped into the tent behind them. Her hair and clothes were damp with snow, but otherwise she looked fine. The same could not be said for her two companions: they had both lost their helmets, and several plates from their armour. Cloud still had his katana, but Squall's scabbard and holster both hung empty.

"What's happening out there?" Rinoa demanded, glaring at Cloud as he helped Squall onto a stool. It was Tifa who answered her:

"Well, after the gates opened, we didn't know what was going on. Our officer couldn't get any orders from HQ. Some units headed for the gate; others just stayed where they were.

"Then everything went crazy. They hit the walls hard, but they were after the gatehouse. We could see the fire from our post. I never heard of battle magic like it, even in the war. I don't think anyone got out alive."

"Did you have to…," Rinoa's voice gave out again.

"Fight? No, we were lucky. There was a fifty-foot cliff beneath us; there were much easier ways for them to reach the walls. A couple tried to climb it, but we shot them down before they got too close."

"What're they like?" Aerith asked, looking up from examining Squall.

"They're fast," said Tifa grimly, "They climbed like spiders. Nearly as fast, too."

"What happened then?" Rinoa asked.

"Well, the lieutenant told us that HQ had ordered a general retreat to the castle. Then it all broke down. People were spooked, even some of the veterans. It turned into a full-on rout. Genius here got caught in the middle of it; lost all his weapons, too."

Tifa jerked a thumb towards where Squall sat. Cloud picked up the story:

"I wanted to get to the castle as fast as we could, but Tifa insisted we get Squall some treatment. That's how we ended up here."

"Rinoa!" Squall cried, spotting her for the first time. Shaking Aerith's hands away, he crossed towards her. She stepped forwards and wrapped her arms tight around him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, holding her tight. She gave him a quizzical look:

"I kinda thought the uniform gave it away."

Squall took his first proper look at his surroundings. They were at one end of a long tent of rough canvas, pitched on a stone-flagged plaza. Neat rows of camp beds filled the tent from end to end, tended by men and women in simple white aprons decorated with a red cross. Aerith and Rinoa were wearing the same aprons.

"You're a nurse?" said Squall, frowning. Rinoa gave a little sigh and stepped back.

"I wanted to do something to help, and when Aerith said she was signing up…," she said with a shrug. Squall was about to reply, when firm hands spun him round. Aerith, a fearsome expression on her face, grabbed his collar and pressed two fingers of her free hand to his still-bleeding forehead. It burned horribly, but when she drew her hand back the wound had closed up. Aerith was unsympathetic to Squall's cries:

"Well, if you're not going to sit still," was all she said.

"Are we done?" said Cloud testily.

"I'd leave your armour here, if I were you," said Aerith as she washed her hands, "It doesn't help. We've had people brought in here torn open like tin cans."

The next few minutes were spent trying to help the boys out of their armour. It was a fairly simple operation, but some of the clasps holding Cloud's armour together had become buckled. Try as they might, they could not remove his right thigh guard or his left shoulder guard.

"Leave it! Just leave it!" he snapped, waving them away, "I'll get it looked at later."

"Hey," Squall called over to Aerith, "what's this doing here?"

He was squatted down beside a camp bed. The bed was empty, but a soldier's kit bag lay underneath it.

"Just someone's bed," said Aerith with a shrug, "they moved him up to the castle a while ago. Why?"

"Ah, so he won't miss _this_ then!" said Squall, with a gleam in his eye. Reaching under the bed, he held up a long sabre in a black leather scabbard. Its

hilt resembled an oversized revolver, with an elongated handle.

"A gunblade?" said Cloud.

"Hey, Squall, that's not exactly _yours_…" said Aerith, but Squall was already searching the kit bag for ammunition.

"Hey, I need a weapon," he said, standing up and thumbing bullets into the magazine, "and if we find its owner in the castle, I will gladly return it to him. I'm just holding it for a while!"

"And the fact that you've always wanted a gunblade has _nothing _to do with it, of course?" said Tifa, with a smile.

"None at all," said Squall, returning the smile as he attached the scabbard to his belt.

"Can we just go?" Cloud asked. He was hovering by the tent flap, his left hand flexing on the handle of his katana.

"Let me just get this apron off," said Aerith, reaching rounds to undo the strings.

"Wait, you're not thinking of coming with us?" said Tifa.

"Of course," said Rinoa, dropping her apron onto a spare bed. Underneath, she was wearing a practical suit of leathers, cut off at the knee and elbow.

"You're going to the castle, aren't you?" said Aerith, matter-of-factly. Under her apron she was wearing a long, pink dress and a pair of solid hiking boots.

"Angelo!" Rinoa called. Putting her fingers to her lips, she gave a long whistle. A bark was heard outside, then Angelo came gambling into the tent. In his mouth he carried the sky blue coat Squall had given Rinoa and a short red jacket, which Rinoa handed to Aerith.

"But… aren't you needed here?" Cloud asked.

"Not any more," said Aerith, "it's too dangerous now. They're loading the patients into ambulances outside. No one will miss us."

"Rinoa," said Squall, taking her hand, "I don't want you to come with us. Get into an ambulance. Go to the castle. We'll meet you there."

"I'm not going without you," she replied flatly.

"We're going on foot. We may even have to fight. It's dangerous and…" Squall's voice trailed off. There was no winning against a girl when she wore _that _expression. Cloud did not even try to argue; one look from Aerith was enough. Tifa scowled slightly, but said nothing.

"OK," said Cloud, holding the tent flap open, "stay close. There could be anything out there."

* * *

It happened all in an instance. One second the clouds, heavy, dark and low, were quiet. The next, lightning hammered down onto the city. A dozen thunderbolts, livid white against the snow-laden sky, slammed into a street on the eastern side of the city. Zack felt the tremors even from where he stood, half a mile away.

Skidding to a halt, he tried the closest door. It was locked. After a few attempts, he found a house that had been left unlocked. Bounding up the stairs three at a time, he rushed to the rear, east-facing windows. The lightning had struck a residential area. Great purple clouds, laced with shadows, were pouring from the ruined houses.

What was it, Zack wondered? It was no ordinary storm, that was for sure. Was this some spell of the witch Maleficent? A new device of the Heartless? Or something totally new?

He stood at the open window, frozen with indecision. There was a major road up to the castle running through that area. People would be moving along it. What if they were in danger? But what about Ansem? He had to be stopped. The army could take care of this, whatever it was. He had to find Ansem.

Zack was just about to turn from the window, when something caught his eye. The snow was falling quite heavily now but there was no mistaking it: something the size and shape of a man was leaping from rooftop to rooftop, covering distances too great for any person to jump. It was close, and appeared to be travelling south towards the gate.

Swinging his legs over the sill, Zack let himself drop into the back garden below. He didn't know what this strange thing was, but if it came from the castle it was likely that it came from Ansem: that could mean nothing good.

Cutting through a narrow back alley, Zack sprinted after the mysterious, leaping shape. The snow half blinded him, but he ran on. Every now and then he would see the shape, dark against the clouds, bounding over some particularly wide gap. Then, after a few minute's chase, he lost it as he rounded a corner. He was on another street of houses, in the middle of a residential area. There was no sign of the jumping creature. Hoping that it had not changed course or doubled back, Zack crossed the street and took a back alley heading south.

He had just turned the corner when he was aware of a blur of movement ahead of him. In a blink of an eye, Zack's Buster Sword was in his hand. He stood, sword raised, staring into the mouth of a three-barrelled pistol.

"Colonel Zack?"

Zack looked along the weapon, up the arm and into the face of his assailant. It took all his composure not to flinch. The eyes, set in a face as pale as death, were bright yellow and pupil-less.

"Agent… Valentine?" Zack ventured. The apparition nodded and lowered the pistol. His face had changed little, Zack reflected, except that it was now as white as a corpse's. Vincent was dressed very strangely: in black, with a great red cloak wrapped around his shoulders. A bronze gauntlet, with clawed fingers, was on his left hand.

"What…," Zack began, but Vincent cut him off:

"No time to explain. You must come with me. The people are in great danger."

His voice was very deep, much deeper than Zack remembered it, and rough.

"Yes…," Zack shook his head, "I mean, _yes. _Sorry… you know?"

Vincent nodded.

"To the castle?" he said.

"Yeah," said Zack, sheathing his sword and fighting down the urge to shudder. Just standing near Vincent gave him a chill that had nothing to do with the snow.

"To the castle, then."

* * *

A single light turned on, surrounding Ansem with a pool of light. The rest of the laboratory was dark. His lab coat seemed a brilliant white in that tiny circle.

"So," said Xehanort's voice from beyond the light, "you have come."

"I knew," said Ansem, in a level voice, "only one person could have created the programme that overrode the Operating System: you, my foremost apprentice."

"You flatter me," said Xehanort in a voice without humour. Ansem's apprentices appeared around the circle of light, half hidden in the shadows. Only Xehanort stepped into the circle proper. He no longer wore a lab coat: now he was dressed in a white jacket, open at the chest, with a dark greatcoat over the top. The Heartless emblem was emblazoned on his chest in black and red. He was still a handsome young man but his face was different now, warped with cruelty and pride.

"Why…?" Ansem asked, fixing his eyes on Xehanort's.

"…did I open the gates? To bring darkness into the city. Only when this whole world is filled with shadow will the way be clear."

"The way? The way to what?"

"To the heart of all worlds. Even now, you do not understand?" Xehanort seemed amused and incredulous at the same time, "You are a fool to the end!"

"The heart of all worlds?! Not this madness, again! Is it worth this, Xehanort? How can _anything _be worth this?"

"It is worth _everything_. The darkness that rises from men's hearts will consume this world, and every star in the sky. It is inevitable. But to control that darkness? To learn its secrets: to rule it as a king? _That_ is worth _anything_.

"But tell me, little man," Xehanort said, a savage grin on his lips, "why did you come here?"

"What…?" Ansem was staggered by the question, "to… speak to you, of course: to convince you to stop this. It is not too late!"

"Still you do not understand," Xehanort snarled. There was no mocking humour in his face now.

"Xehanort, people are dying" Ansem cried.

"A necessary sacrifice," Xehanort replied.

"Please, stop this. You must," Ansem pleaded.

"I am doing what I must."

"Braig. Dilan. Even! Aeleus! _Ienzo!_"

Ansem turned from one to the other, seeking support. Every face was set; every gaze was as stone. In despair, Ansem turned on Xehanort again.

"Very well," Ansem said, no longer able to meet Xehanort's eye, "then I will do what _I _must.

"You have taken everything from me, Xehanort. My work, my apprentices, my pride, even my very name."

"You had nothingto be proud of," Xehanort sneered, "I amAnsem. _You_ are nothing: just another x! I fulfilled your work. I took that which you squandered through your own cowardice, and now I bring it to completion."

"You took all that from me," Ansem continued, as if he had not heard Xehanort, "but you will not take my people!"

Ansem's hand plunged into his lab coat. The other apprentices started forwards, but Xehanort stayed them with a gesture. From inside his coat, Ansem drew a three-barrelled pistol. He levelled it at Xehanort.

"Goodbye, my apprentice," he said, his voice choked.

"Goodbye, master," replied Xehanort.

There was a crack as the pistol fired. Shadows rose up around Xehanort like a cloak. Then he was upon Ansem, wrestling with him, bearing him to the ground. The pistol cracked again. The other apprentices heard Ansem cry out, and then the pistol clattered across the steel floor. Darkness rose around the struggling pair, defying the light above. It was a long, terrible moment as the apprentices stood watching that silent, writhing mass of shadow.

All of sudden, the darkness cleared. Xehanort was kneeling, head bowed, in the centre of the light. Slowly he rose to his feet. When he spoke, his voice was slow and heavy:

"He is gone."

* * *

_Hey, hey! What did you think of that, then? Please review and let me know what you thought was good, bad or indifferent._


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Radiant Garden was in turmoil. All co-ordination in the army had broken down. Isolated pockets of soldiers continued to fight. Some tried to help the civilians fleeing to the castle in the centre of the city. Many simply abandoned their weapons and joined the rout.

In only a few minutes, Squall and his friends were totally lost. Familiar shortcuts were now jammed with crude barricades. Public highways were at a standstill. They began to navigate by sound: moving away from the noise of gunfire, or running feet, but the castle, looming high above the rooftops, never seemed to grow any closer. All the while, the snow came down harder and faster. It was difficult to see more than fifty yards in front of them. The pavements beneath their feet were thick with slush.

They had just emerged from a back street onto a major road running uphill, when they heard a cry to their right:

"Squall!"

Turning, they saw Laguna waving to them. He was standing with a large group of soldiers, who were manning a makeshift barricade made mainly of packing cases. The barricade covered only half the street; the other half had been left clear to allow the steady stream of civilians to pass by on their way to the castle. Kiros and Ward stood either side of the gap, regulating the flow.

"Squall!" Laguna shouted again, running towards them, "Squall! Oh… you're safe!"

"It's OK, Dad… I'm fine," said Squall, as Laguna wrapped his arms around him. Although he was embarrassed that his friends were watching, Squall was so glad to see his father that he in turn put his arms around Laguna.

"Are _you_ alright?" Squall asked after they had broken apart.

"Me? Nah, they never touched me!" said Laguna, slapping his hand on the machine gun that hung over his shoulder.

"Listen, Squall…"

Laguna stopped and turned round. A little girl, no more than seven years old, was tugging at his sleeve.

"Excuse me," she said, "_Michi mayotta._"

"Huh? Oh!" said Laguna, squatting down so that he could speak to her face to face, "You're from Wutai province, aren't you?"

The girl nodded.

"And what is your name?"

"Yuffie," the girl replied.

"OK, Yuffie," said Laguna, taking her hand, "I'm going to call someone over, and he will help you find your parents. Do you understand?"

"_Wakarimas_," said Yuffie, nodding. Laguna straightened up.

"Ward!" he shouted. The huge man trotted over.

"This little girl has lost her parents," said Laguna, "See if you can help her find them, OK?"

"Right you are, boss," said Ward.

He was just about to bend down and pick her up when a green fire flashed above the rooftops. The civilians began to scream. Kiros was calling for calm. A soldier wearing a bloodied sergeant's uniform sprinted towards Laguna.

"It's… her, sir," he said, between gasps, "Maleficent. She's… nearly… here."

Laguna barely paused. Bending down, he lifted Yuffie into his arms and handed her to Squall.

"Here. Take her with you," he ordered, "Get to the castle, now."

Squall did not move. The screams of the crowd were growing more urgent.

"Didn't you hear what I said?" said Laguna, "Go!"

"But… what about you?" Squall asked.

"We'll do what we can here," said Laguna.

"But… we could help," said Squall, a note of desperation creeping into his voice.

"Squall," said Laguna, stepping close to his son so that the others could not hear, "I want you to listen to me. I may not get another chance to say this."

Squall let out a soft groan.

"No, just listen," said Laguna, "do you know why some people are born strong, and others weak? To help one another. Some people will try to use their strength to harm others. That is why people like you are given strength: to protect those who cannot protect themselves.

"You are strong. You must use that strength to protect your friends. Now, go. You haven't got much time."

Squall took a step. He froze.

"Go, damn you! _Please_!" Laguna cried, slinging his machine gun from his shoulder. With a final glance, Squall turned away and joined the crowd of people rushing up the hill.

Laguna sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Turning back to the barricade, he raised his voice to address the men:

"Alright, gentlemen! I need about half a dozen volunteers!"

As soon as he spoke, Kiros and Ward leapt forward.

"What a surprise(!)" said Laguna, smiling broadly.

"What's the plan, sir?" asked Kiros.

"Well, you know what the best defence is, don't you?" said Laguna, hoisting his machine gun.

"OK," he said, "Biggs, Wedge, Jessie: you're with us. The rest of you, hold this position!"

"Any covering fire you could spare would be much appreciated," Ward joked as the tiny squadron rounded the barricade.

The street ahead was thick with Heartless. They were packed so tightly together that they seemed form one great, amorphous mass of shadow. In the centre of this horde, half hidden in the snowstorm, was the shape of a woman, her head topped with two curling horns.

Laguna charged down the very centre of the street, Kiros, Ward and the others just behind him. The Heartless scuttled to meet them, their long, grasping claws thrust out like knives. Laguna raised his machinegun and emptied a clip into the Heartless. They made no attempt to avoid the bullets, or fall back. They did not seem to notice the glancing blows that tore thin slivers of shadow from their bodies. A killing shot, either to the chest or head, did not leave a body: they merely faded away, like mist on a summer's day. Many fell, but the Heartless still came on.

Reaching into his jacket, Laguna tossed a grenade ahead of him. The blast sent Heartless flying in every direction. Laguna plunged into the momentary gap he had made, machinegun still blazing in his hand. Behind him, Kiros and Ward fought with _katar_ and harpoon, swatting the Heartless away as they tried to close in around them.

Laguna's eyes were fixed on the angular figure of Maleficent. He levelled his machinegun at her, steadying it with his spare hand, only for a wave of Heartless to rise up between them. Laguna dived to his right, clearing a path through the Heartless with bullets. Turning, he saw another flash of green fire. There was a scream as Kiros fell, the flesh burning from his bones. Laguna gave a cry of anguish and began firing wildly at Maleficent, screaming and cursing at the top of his voice. The witch turned on him. Green fire leapt from her staff. Laguna dived aside. He felt the heat of the spell on his face, but he was unharmed. He rolled to his feet, laughing. Then he heard the creaking. The wall behind him groaned, swayed and fell. The laughter still on his lips, Laguna fell, crushed beneath an avalanche of bricks.

* * *

"Simply astonishing…" said Even, peering at the grainy monochrome picture on the monitor. 

"Shouldn't he be dead, or something?" said Braig, looking over Even's shoulder.

"His heart should have been _destroyed_," said Even. He rapped out a command sequence on the computer keyboard and the CCTV footage rewound. It showed a deserted city street. As the footage played, two men could be seen running across the street: Zack Fair, an army colonel, and Vincent Valentine, a member of the Turks.

"How the hell did he survive the experiments?" Braig asked, pointing to the picture of Vincent.

"There must be hidden depths to his heart that we did not detect," said Even thoughtfully, "but he did not emerge entirely unscathed. Observe."

Even rewound the footage again, then zoomed in on Vincent's face.

"His pale skin, and those yellow eyes," he explained, "indicate that the darkness has at least some hold over him."

"And?" said Braig, "Is he gonna turn into a Heartless, or what?"

"I wouldn't _dare _to attempt a hypothesis this early," said Even, pompously. A voice made the two apprentices start:

"Besides, we have a more urgent problem."

They turned. Ienzo appeared behind them, stepping out from a dark portal suspended in the air.

"Geez! What'd you have to go and spook us like that for?" snapped Braig. Xehanort had taught his fellow apprentices how to travel through the corridors of darkness, to better co-ordinate the Heartless down in the city. It was almost too easy, although very draining if used frequently.

"What do you want, anyway?" asked Even.

"I have been investigating the storm that hit the east side of the city," said Ienzo coolly, "Turn the cameras to Sector Iota-Nine."

Even entered the appropriate command. The picture on the monitor flickered. A new scene: warehouses, with fire and smoke in the background. A slender figure could be seen walking by. There was no mistaking his silver hair, or the long sword he carried.

"Sephiroth," breathed Even.

"How?" he asked, turning on Ienzo.

"I don't know," he said with a shrug, "he appears to have arrived with the storm."

"But… but, he got blasted to smithereens. Didn't he?" said Braig.

"Not necessarily," said Even, wiping away the sweat that was gathering on his forehead. He continued:

"Xeha – _Ansem's_ spell may have cast him into the realm of darkness. If that is the case, then the immense concentration of darkness present in this city may have weakened the barrier between the realms, allowing him to step back through."

"Is that possible?" asked Ienzo.

"It is a hypothesis," Even replied with a shrug, "After all, _we_ can travel through the corridors of darkness. It is not inconceivable that Sephiroth has done something similar. Although what it has done him, I can only imagine."

"Nevertheless, this is all academic," said Ienzo, "The fact is that he is here, and he's heading towards the castle."

Braig and Even had turned very pale.

"Can't we just crank out some more Heartless?" said Braig.

"The machine is running at maximum efficiency," said Even curtly, "If we try to produce any more, we run the risk of a major failure. Would you like to explain _that _to Ansem?"

"Where _is _Ansem?" Ienzo asked.

"Went down into town," Braig replied, "said he had something important to do.

"I could go look for him," he suggested, turning for the door, but Ienzo's held him back.

"No. There might not be time," he said, shaking his head.

"No, Braig," said Even, "go find Dilan and Aeleus. Together, with some Heartless, you might be able to…"

"No way!" cried Braig, "Hell, if _Ansem_ couldn't finish him off, what chance have _we _got? Besides, what'll happen if that Turk and his army pal get here while we're gone?"

For a few minutes, no one spoke. The only sounds were the hum of the computer terminal and the rhythmic crackle of the Heartless Creator at work.

"I think," said Ienzo, at length, "I may be able to solve _both _our problems together."

* * *

The group was halfway up a broad staircase leading towards the castle when Cloud stopped. He turned and looked down at the lower levels. Through the blizzard, he could just make out the city walls. They were black with Heartless. Fires had broken out in several streets, and were spreading quickly. The sound of fighting, although very faint, was still audible. Cloud turned to speak to his friends: 

"I'm going back."

Their reaction was immediate, and strong.

"What?! Are you crazy!" Squall yelled.

"Cloud, Squall's dad said we had to get to the castle," said Rinoa tentatively.

"If you think for a moment that I'm going to let you go," snarled Tifa.

Cloud let their words roll over him. Then he replied, his voice shaking with emotion:

"I won't let them do this. I won't let them take my home. I'm going back. I'm going to fight them."

Yuffie began to sob. Squall handed her to Rinoa, then descended the steps towards Cloud.

"Don't be an idiot," he said, his eyes hard and sharp as diamond.

"I'm going," said Cloud, "I can't just… run. People are dying down there! I can't just go and hide like some… some little kid!"

"Damn it, Cloud!" Squall yelled. For a second, it really looked like he was going to hit Cloud. The moment passed. When he spoke again, his voice was grim:

"This is not a storybook, Cloud. This is the real thing. If you go down there, you will be killed."

"I can…" Cloud began but Squall cut him off.

"You can't do anything! You're not Sephiroth. You're just you. You'll fight, and you'll die and that'll be it! Are you going to throw your life away, just so you can try and be a hero?!"

Cloud's face flushed at Squall's words, but he did not reply. For a long while the two friends stood, their gazes locked. It was Squall who looked away first.

"Fine," he said sullenly, "Fine. Go. I'm not going to… to fight you about it."

Turning away from Cloud, he took Yuffie from Rinoa and began to climb the steps. He did not look back.

Cloud stared up after Squall for a second, then turned to go. Now Tifa was beside him, a hand on his arm.

"Cloud! _Please_!" she said. Cloud glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, and began to descend the steps.

"Cloud! Stop! Squall's right, please listen to him," Tifa said, moving to block Cloud's way.

"Either come with me or get out of my way," said Cloud.

"Don't you… Don't you care about us? About… _me_?" Tifa asked. Cloud did not look at her.

"I… I'm… urrhh!" Tifa snarled. Her hand snapped back raised to slap Cloud, then dropped to her side an instant later. She stepped aside to let Cloud pass.

"I'm staying with my friends," she said sullenly, turning to follow Squall.

"Cloud! Wait!"

Aerith jogged after him, slipping a little on the icy steps.

"Save your breath," said Cloud, not looking back at her.

"No, I won't try and stop you," said Aerith, catching up with him, "Your heart's telling you what you have to do, right?"

Cloud paused. He looked up at her. There was real fear in his eyes.

"Just promise me," said Aerith, taking his hand, "Just promise me you'll come back. Promise me that you'll find me, one day."

Cloud was silent. Then, in a choked voice, he said:

"I promise."

"Then go," said Aerith, letting his hand drop from hers, "go do what you have to do."

She did not turn away, but watched as he drew his sword and descended into the city. Only when he was completely lost from her sight did she turn and join the others at the top of the stairs.

* * *

_Hello, just the usual note reminding you to review with your thoughts, good or bad, on this chapter. Thank you!_


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Zack turned another corner. Vincent, his cape trailing behind him like a flag, kept pace beside him. Up ahead, the shadowy figure turned into another side alley and rushed on. Could it really be…?

The alley brought them out into the town marketplace. It was a wide square of grey stone, sheltered from the storm by tall shop buildings. Streamers, stiff with frost, still hung between the lampposts. The shop fronts had been hastily closed; goods lay scattered across the raised walkway that ran around three sides of the square. There was no sign of the figure they had been pursuing.

Up ahead, Zack spotted a man running from an alleyway on the opposite side of the marketplace. He gave a startled cry and took a step forwards: it was clearly Ansem, in his familiar white coat and red scarf. Zack was about to call to him when he paused, Vincent's hand on his arm.

Ansem ran a few metres across the square, paused, and turned to look back down the alleyway he had just emerged from. Then he turned to face Zack and Vincent, an odd smile on his face. A portal of deepest shadow appeared in the air behind Ansem, like a hole torn in the air. As he stepped backwards the man Zack had thought to be Ansem changed. His face seemed to melt away as if it was nothing more than smoke. As the portal closed around him, Zack caught a brief glimpse of the man's new face: young and pale, with a long fringe of dark hair over his right eye.

"What the…?" said Zack. Vincent motioned for him to be silent. He was staring across the marketplace, to the alley that the stranger had entered from. Another figure, a man, tall and slender, could be seen walking towards the square. Zack stared, astonished, as the man emerged into full daylight.

It was Sephiroth. He had not changed in the slightest detail since Zack had last seen him, those many weeks ago. He walked confidently towards them, the tail of his long coat brushing the snow on the ground behind him.

"Sephiroth!" Zack called. Sephiroth slowed. He was near the very centre of the square now, still a good distance away from Zack and Vincent. Zack could just make out Sephiroth's face. He seemed faintly amused by something.

"So," he said, "_this _was their plan. Pity: I had expected better."

"Huh?" said Zack, "What are you talking about, sir?"

"No matter," Sephiroth continued, as if he had not heard Zack, "They only postpone the inevitable."

"General!" said Zack, urgently "You've got to listen to me. We've got to get to the castle. It's Ansem. We've got to stop him before…"

"I know," said Sephiroth, cutting across Zack.

"Then why are we standing here?!" Zack asked. He couldn't understand why his old friend was behaving so oddly.

"We've gotta move, sir, before the Heartless…"

"The Heartless are mere tools," said Sephiroth, cutting across Zack again, "Pitiful spawn of the greater darkness. I will not need them."

"Need them? What the hell are you talking about, Sephiroth?" said Zack.

"That's not Sephiroth," said Vincent. Zack turned to look at him. Vincent had levelled his pistol at Sephiroth.

"At least," Vincent continued, "he's not the Sephiroth you knew."

Sephiroth smiled bitterly.

"And you, half-breed," he spat, addressing Vincent, "what are _you_?"

Zack started at the expression in Sephiroth's face. He seemed to be staring through Vincent, at something only he could see. It was an expression of purest hate.

"I don't know, but I know what I'm _not_," said Vincent, aim not wavering in the slightest.

"You would not speak as you do if you had seen what I have seen," Sephiroth replied. Zack could see Sephiroth's eyes glazing over as he spoke.

"I have seen the source; the beating heart of all darkness," Sephiroth's voice was soft now, almost reverential, "There is no escaping it, no denying it. You… you cannot resist it. I have embraced it, clasped it to my bosom as a tender lover, and it is glorious. Through it, with it, I shall have what my heart has always desired."

"And… what is that?" Zack asked tentatively, fearing that he already knew the answer.

"Power," said Sephiroth, his eyes still unfocused. He rolled the word around, savouring it, as if it left some pleasant taste in his mouth.

"Power," Sephiroth repeated, "over this world. I will raise it, with fire and with ice. This Garden will burn and rise anew; my promised land, a kingdom of darkness. It will be mine to rule for all eternity."

Zack could only stare. He could not; no, he _would not_ believe what he was hearing.

"The darkness… is a wondrous thing," said Sephiroth, his eyes now focusing on Zack. His expression was so tender, so warm, that Zack almost started back with surprise. Sephiroth continued:

"Do not fight it. You cannot defeat it, Zack. You know this, in the very depths of your soul. Why not embrace it, Zack? Come, and we shall rule together."

Zack took a tentative step forwards. After all, this was Sephiroth he was speaking to. Sephiroth: his old war buddy, the renowned general, the man who had saved his life times beyond counting. Surely he could trust Sephiroth, of all people.

Then Zack remembered who Sephiroth was. H remembered the limitless ambition that he had discovered in his friend; that seething, restless fire that had consumed him for ten years. Could ambition, even one as great as Sephiroth's, drive a man to embrace such extreme measures to gain power?

Zack knew the answer. Stepping back again, he drew his Buster Sword. He dropped into en guard, his point level with Sephiroth's chest.

"You are _not _the Sephiroth I knew," he said grimly.

Now Vincent spoke. His eyes did not leave Sephiroth, even for an instance.

"When it starts, I may not be able to control it," he said, keeping his voice low so that only Zack could hear him, "When it happens, don't worry. Just do what you have to do."

"What? I don't understand," said Zack.

"It's OK. Just remember what I said. Do what you have to do," said Vincent.

Then it began. It was Vincent who moved first. He leapt high, to his left, firing at Sephiroth as he jumped. Sephiroth stood his ground. He whispered something. A Protect spell, in the form of a shimmer orb, appeared around him to deflect the bullets.

Now it was Zack's turn. He charged forwards, his Buster Sword raised to attack. Sephiroth drew his long _katana_, the Masamune. They crossed swords, passed and turned to face each other. Zack had no illusions about his ability; he had sparred with Sephiroth enough times to know that he was the inferior swordsman. He only hoped he could distract Sephiroth long enough for Vincent to sneak a bullet into his back.

Zack and Sephiroth clashed again. Another two passes. Zack's parries were strong enough but he could not find even the smallest of gaps in Sephiroth's defence. Out of the corner of his eye Zack saw Vincent raise his pistol. He had re-loaded. Stepping sideways, Zack tried to guide Sephiroth so that Vincent had a clear shot of his back.

Sephiroth spotted the trap instantly. Switching his grip to his left hand only, he thrust his right arm towards Vincent. A powerful Fire spell shot from his hand: a searing ball of flame that scorched the ground as it passed. The edge of the spell crackled with a strange dark light. Zack had never seen such a spell. Vincent dodged just in time, leaping higher and further than any normal man should have been capable. He did not jump fast enough, though. The spell caught the tail of his cape. Vincent discarded it in an instance: spinning it from his shoulders in one quick movement. It landed in a heap, where it lay smouldering and forgotten.

Zack attacked hard, hoping to catch Sephiroth off balance. Sephiroth defended the attack fiercely, counter attacking at ever opportunity. He leapt back from Zack. Ice crystals gathered in the air around him.

"Shell," Zack grunted, creating a defensive spell around his body. In a heartbeat the crystals around Sephiroth had become spears. They hurled themselves at Zack. He charged straight at them. His Shell flashed and hummed as they struck its surface, but it was not broken.

More inconclusive passes, as Buster Sword and Masamune rattled against one another. Vincent rushed towards them, shouting for Zack to move, pistol blazing with every step. Zack dropped and rolled aside. Sephiroth turned. His sword twirled and another Protect spell rose to deflect the bullets. His magazine exhausted, Vincent closed with Sephiroth, slashing furiously with his bronze gauntlet. Zack moved closer to aid him. Sephiroth fell back, defending against the twin assault with incredible speed.

Zack noticed some strange movements out of the corner of his eye. Glancing to his right, he saw what looked like black smoke rising from Vincent's gauntlet. Zack fell back from the fight, unsure what to do. Vincent was moving faster now, too fast to be human. Sephiroth looked intimidated. He began to give ground faster and faster, parrying without attempting to attack. Step by step, Vincent forced him towards the raised walkway that ran around three sides of the marketplace.

Now Sephiroth's back was against the wall. Zack held his breath. He wanted to shout something to Vincent, but he doubted that Vincent could even hear him anymore. Vincent's gauntlet drew back for the blow. There was long moment in which every little detail of the scene screamed out to Zack. Then Vincent struck. Sephiroth dived.

He was just fast enough. Vincent's fist buried itself up to the wrist in the solid stonework. It seemed to offer him no more resistance that plywood. Sephiroth sprinted aside, sword still raised, his eyes fixed on Vincent. Vincent drew his fist back. Holstering his pistol, he tore the gauntlet off. Zack gave a stifled cry; Vincent's arm was the colour of deepest night, with clawed fingers. For a second, Vincent stared incredulously at his hand. This was all the time Sephiroth needed.

The blade of the Masamune began to shimmer with a sickly dark light. Zack dived back, summoning another Shell. He cried for Vincent to move but he was too late. With a flick, Sephiroth sent a bolt of purest dark energy flying from his blade. Zack's Shell flared white-hot before it collapsed, but he was unharmed. Vincent did not have time, or the ability, to conjure his own defences. The spell struck him full in the chest. He was lifted off his feet and sent flying across the marketplace, where his body crashed through the front of an abandoned shop.

Zack let out a moan of despair, but his guard did not drop for an instant. Once again he closed with Sephiroth. His blows came down faster and harder than ever before. Sephiroth rose to the challenge, matching Zack move for move.

Suddenly, Zack heard what sounded like the crackling of power cables. He did not dare turn around. Then he noticed Sephiroth was watching something out of the corner of his eye. Zack stepped back out of Sephiroth's reach, and risked a glance over his shoulder. Great, dark clouds, traced with white lines of energy were pouring from the shop into which Vincent's body had been hurled. Faint sounds of movement could be heard coming from within. Then, with a strange scraping sound, a huge black claw was thrust into the light, grasping for the sky.

* * *

It was still quiet in the castle library. The comfortable, dusty atmosphere seemed to defy even battle, storm and chaos. The sturdy wooden doors, firmly bolted, were almost completely soundproof. Xehanort had sometimes wondered, in his more idle moments, whether there was a special 'librarian's magic' at work there. 

Such useless thoughts; it was hard to believe that there had ever been space in his mind for such waste. He was beyond that now. Now he had a purpose, and a great destiny to fulfil. The darkness had led him here.

The Princesses of Heart had been occupying his thoughts more and more recently. Something told him that they were of great significance. He searched for the deepest darkness that dwelt in the source of all hearts. The Princesses of Heart were unique: seven maidens with hearts utterly devoid of darkness. The connection was almost too obvious. Then there was the Keyblade, and its Chosen Wielder: supposedly a being with unparalleled strength of heart. Everything in the universe is connected. So, how did the Princesses link to the Keybearer?

This was the question that had led Xehanort to the castle library. It was not quite a smell, or a sight. It was something between the two, mixed together with pure instinct. He seemed to be able to detect people's hearts, even to the point of distinguishing between individuals. This particular heart was so strong that he could have detected it from miles away. If it had been a light, it would have blinded him. If it was a smell, it would have overpowered him. As it was, the 'scent' (as he had come to think of it) pierced the very walls of the castle, and eclipsed the hearts nearby.

Xehanort stepped through a dark portal onto the balcony that overlooked the ground floor of the library. Keeping close within the shadow of a bookcase, he leant over the balcony. He could see the old librarian sitting in her familiar chair under the staircase. She was speaking softly to a little redheaded girl sitting on her lap. Xehanort recognised her: she was the librarian's granddaughter. He had often seen her toddling between the bookcases, dragging a volume twice as big as herself behind her.

Xehanort summoned another portal into the corridors of darkness. Stepping through, he emerged on the ground floor of the library, hidden from the librarian and her granddaughter behind another bookcase. Reaching up, he tipped a few of the larger volumes onto the floor. He heard the sharp intake of breath.

"Who's… who's there?" the librarian called. Xehanort did not reply, but tipped a few more books onto the floor. He heard the soft sounds of movement from the librarian, and whispered encouragement to her granddaughter.

Raising his hand again, Xehanort quickly moved through the corridors of darkness to stand behind the old woman's chair. She was on her feet now, hand in hand with her granddaughter, scanning the rows of bookcases for the intruder.

A brisk step forwards and Xehanort was behind the grey headed old woman. He grabbed her shoulder with one hand. She screamed and tried to turn but Xehanort simply threw her to the ground. The little girl gasped and stood, frozen, staring up at him. Xehanort reached down and lifted her up so that they were eye to eye.

For a long time, they stared at one another. Xehanort was impressed: the girl did not scream, or struggle. She just stared quietly at him with those rich blue eyes. There could be no doubt now: this was the heart he had been searching for. A truly pure heart; Xehanort had thought such a thing was impossible. Could she be one of the Seven?

A new portal into the corridors of darkness appeared in front of Xehanort.

"Goodbye, Princess," said Xehanort, "May your heart resonate with that of the Keybearer, and bring me to him."

With that, Xehanort threw the girl into the portal. In a second it had closed up behind her, as if it had never been there.

"Kairi…"

Xehanort turned round. The old woman was still lying on the floor. Blood trickled from one corner of her mouth.

"Kairi," she groaned again.

Xehanort spared her no more than the briefest of glances. A click of his fingers summoned a Heartless to his side. Another click and a dark portal carried him back down into his laboratory. Nobody heard the old woman's final scream.

* * *

_There you go _TheFinalWraith_. Hoped you liked that!_

_Thanks for reading. Please review and tell me what you liked, what you didn't etc. etc._


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Squall was completely lost. The snow was coming down so hard that he could barely see ten feet in front of him. Familiar streets were unrecognisable. He was starting to get worried: they needed to find shelter as soon as possible. His clothes felt heavy with the damp, and he could hear the girls' teeth chattering even over the wind. It was Yuffie he was most concerned about, though: she was shivering uncontrollably in his arms. Squall had taken off his jacket and wrapped it around her, but it would not help for long.

The snowstorm was so heavy that they nearly passed the police headquarters by without noticing it. It was a large, functional building of grey stone with a flat roof, few windows and a pair of imposing steel doors at the front.

"I… I think we sh-should stop here," said Squall, raising his voice over the wind, "Try to… warm up, yeah?"

The girls murmured what sounded like agreements, and the little group turned off the street. As they approached, they could see the tall figure of a man examining the double doors. Handing Yuffie to Aerith, Squall's hand fell to the handle of his gunblade. Slowly, he and Tifa crept towards the figure at the doors.

"Hey! Who goes there?" Squall shouted, hand tight on the gunblade.

The figure at the door whipped round, one hand flying to a pocket of his coat. Squall and Tifa started: it was Setzer Gabbiani.

"What're you doing here?" Squall and Setzer asked together.

"Age before beauty," said Tifa, staring venomously at Setzer.

"Very well," said Setzer, smirking. His coifed hair was bedraggled, and his stylish clothes sodden with snow, but he still carried himself with a cocky self-assurance.

"I tried to leave before things got too hot, but the air dock refused to let the _Blackjack _take off. So I came down here to try and get a pass, but it looks like all the cops have packed up and left."

"I wonder why(!)" said Tifa.

"Quite," said Setzer, with a smile,

"Now your turn, shoot."

Squall briefly explained what was happening down by the walls. Already pale from the cold, Setzer's face faded to corpse white.

"I guess I'd better get moving, then," he said. He smiled as he spoke, but his voice was hoarse.

"Thanks for the heads up, kids" he said, and promptly turned his back on Tifa and Squall. Reaching into his greatcoat, he produced a little object that neither of them could see clearly, and began working at the crack between the two doors.

"What're you doing?" Squall asked.

"Well," said Setzer, not turning round, "the cops… might have left… a few hovers behind."

"And you're going to steal one?" said Tifa.

"Better than walking," said Setzer. With a clanging note, the lock came loose and the double doors opened slightly.

"Be seeing you," said Setzer.

"W-wait!" said Squall, struggling to stop his teeth chattering, "We-we're coming with you!"

Both Setzer and Tifa looked surprised. Squall shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant.

"Safety in numbers, right?" he said. In truth, he simply wanted to stay near Setzer. A criminal he may be, but he was an adult. Squall could feel the pressure on him lifting just by being around him.

Setzer frowned, then shrugged.

"Just don't slow me down," he said, opening one of the doors. Waving over to Rinoa and Aerith, Squall followed Setzer into the police headquarters.

The sound of Angelo growling made Squall pause on the threshold. The dog was standing six feet away, hackles raised, teeth bared, snarling at something through the door. Squall peered into the lobby: no one was there. No amount of coaxing from Rinoa could convince Angelo to move an inch closer to the police headquarters.

"Just leave it," Setzer snapped, "We'll pick it up on the way out."

The lobby was a wide, semicircular room with white tiled walls. Rows of bare steel benches were arranged in front of a curved wooden reception desk, behind which was a bank of viewing screens. Two sets of sweeping staircases, one in each of the far corners of the room, led up to the second floor. Two corridors either side of the desk stretched away into the depths of the headquarters.

Squall flicked the light switch beside the door. Nothing happened.

"Perhaps the mako reactor's down?" Aerith suggested.

"Could be," said Squall, scanning the room again. He couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched.

"Let's just find a hover," said Setzer as he crossed the room. He leant over the reception desk to try and find a plan of the building.

There was a sudden sound of movement. Everyone in the room froze. Someone was moving along the right hand corridor. Or something, Squall thought. Almost without thinking, his hand drifted back to the gunblade. He could hear Tifa's leather gloves squeaking as she tightened her fists.

A man wearing a dark blue suit stepped from the gloom and into the half-light of the lobby. Squall breathed a sigh of relief.

"Rude!" he cried happily, recognising the Turk from the occasional visits he paid his father. The bald man did not reply as he advanced towards them.

"Rude? Agent… Rude?" said Squall, unnerved by the silence. Setzer took a few steps away from the reception desk.

Rude was now only three or four metres from Squall. Rude's hand drifted up to his face, taking hold of the sunglasses that he wore all year round; Squall did not think he had ever seen him without them. With a twist, Rude flicked them across the lobby. One of the girls screamed. The eyes behind them were perfectly round. They had no pupils, and glowed with a bright yellow light.

"Run!" Squall shouted, but the girls were already heading for the exit. Squall was aware of a blue blur out of the corner of his eye. A second later and the doors were slammed shut. Another Turk, with red hair and a crumpled suit, stood before them.

"Reno!" Squall gasped. Dark smoke seemed to be trailing from Reno's collar and cuffs. His face was expressionless, and his eyes glowed no less brightly than Rude's.

Aerith and Rinoa rushed back across the room, towards Tifa and Squall. Rude and Reno began to advance on them. Rude had no weapon, but Reno was holding an Electromagnetic Rod, or EMR.

"Go!" snapped Squall, hand tight on the gunblade, "Go!"

"I'm not…" Tifa began, but one look from Squall was enough. He was staying to give them time. She was to get them to safety.

Squall glanced around for Setzer. He just spotted the flapping tail of his black greatcoat disappearing down the left-hand corridor.

Squall cursed under his breath. He'd been counting on Setzer's help.

"Come on," said Tifa, taking Rinoa's hand and sprinting after Setzer. Aerith followed just behind, the girl Yuffie still in her arms.

Rude leapt after them. Squall was about to block him, but at that same moment Reno charged, EMR raised high. The gunblade rasped against its scabbard as Squall drew, parried and riposted. Reno danced back out of reach. Squall had just enough time to see Rude (or whatever had taken Rude's form) following the girls down the corridor. He screamed out a warning, but it was a matter of moments before Reno was on him again.

If Squall had had time to stop and think, it would have read something like this: what am I doing? I am a sixteen-year-old kid. I am not even fully trained yet. I am facing an opponent who is older, more skilled and possibly not even human. I cannot possibly win.

In the event, nothing of the sort entered his mind. He only knew one thing: his friends were in danger. He had to help them.

* * *

Tifa pounded along the corridor. Turnings flashed past so quickly that she barely noticed them. There was no time to choose. The three girls ran in a straight line, as hard and as fast as they could.

Tifa thought she could hear soft footsteps following them. What was it? A Heartless? A man? A mixture of the two, or something else entirely…?

Now she could see they were approaching a dead-end. Two doors faced each other at the end of the corridor. One was swinging open. Tifa guessed this was the one Setzer had chosen. Shouting to the others, she headed straight for it.

The door led into an office floor filled with row after row of identical cubicles. The lights were bright here; clearly not all the building was without power. There was no sign of Setzer.

"Go! Go!" Tifa yelled, dropping back as Rinoa and Aerith sped through. Tifa slammed the door shut behind them and twisted the lock closed. She had just turned to leave when she heard the handle rattling.

"Don't stop!" Tifa shouted to the other girls. They were staring fearfully at the door. She ran to their side, but still they did not move. Tifa turned to look at the door. Thick, black smoke was pouring through the cracks around the edges. In ten seconds the smoke had completely covered the door.

"Has it set fire to the door?" Rinoa whispered.

At that moment, the smoke began to swirl. Then it condensed, becoming more solid and shaped by the moment. Now Rude stood before them, his yellow eyes staring blankly ahead.

"Oh boy," murmured Tifa. She cried to her friends:

"Run!"

The two girls didn't need telling twice, heading into the maze of cubicles at a dead run. Rude moved towards Tifa quite slowly, his fists raised. Tifa crouched slightly, fists bunched. She couldn't outrun something like this. She had to fight.

It was Rude who struck first, punching rapidly. Tifa caught the blows on her forearms, but each one made her stagger. She could feel the bruises rising on her arms already. His next blow broke through her guard, and his open palm smashed into her chest. Tifa was lifted off her feet and sent crashing through the wall of a cubicle. She did not lie prone for more than a moment; the Heartless-man might have been strong, but Tifa was much too tough to go down at the first round. Pressing her hands on the wreckage on the cubicle floor, she back flipped herself into a standing position.

Rude now came at her with a roundhouse kick. Tifa ducked, blocked the next one and leant round the punch that followed. He was wide open now, and her fist smashed straight into his face.

She leapt back, fists still raised. Her blow had not even rocked him. Rude, his nose twisted almost flat against his face, gazed at her with a blank, almost animal expression. She could read nothing in those alien, yellow eyes.

"Oh yeah," Tifa muttered to herself, "this is going to be fun(!)"

* * *

Squall fell back, parrying furiously. There was no time to think about what he was doing. His arm went through the familiar motions, made quick and precise through constant practice. The EMR barked dangerously with every collision. Squall had learnt about the EMR in basic weapons training, and fought with the knowledge even a glancing blow could knock him unconscious.

Now they were climbing the stairs, Squall going backwards, desperately trying to co-ordinate both his feet and his arms. The Reno-Heartless was ferocious; fighting with great sweeping blows that struck showers of sparks from the railings. There was little time or opportunity for Squall to take the offensive. He did not fight to win; he fought to live.

* * *

Aerith and Rinoa skidded to a halt. They were lost. The office floor was much bigger than they had guessed. They could no longer see the door they had entered by, or any of the walls. Cubicles stretched off in every direction.

Yuffie was no longer crying. She was not even shaking. She had gone past that, and was now simply frozen in fear, not blinking, barely breathing. Aerith bent her head low and whispered to her:

"Yuffie. It's going to be OK. We're going to be alright. We're going to get out of here. We're going to get out of here and go somewhere safe. Don't be scared, we'll…"

Rinoa squealed and jumped. A ceiling tile had just fallen to the ground behind them. Aerith looked up and screamed. A woman in a blue suit, her eyes glowing bright yellow, was crawling on the ceiling above them. She looked like some giant fly, sticking to the ceiling with her hands and feet. For a moment she hung there, staring at the three girls through the strands of blonde hair that hung over her face. Then, she dropped.

Aerith fell to her knees, sheltering Yuffie with her body. Reacting almost on pure instinct, she created a Protect spell around her and Rinoa. The blonde Heartless-woman struck the crystalline orb that surrounded them and rolled across the office floor.

She was barely stunned. She pouncing on the shield like a cat, slashing at it with her hands. Aerith could see the Heartless-woman's fingernails scraping along the surface of the orb. They were jet black, as long as knives and just as sharp. Aerith could feel the spell weakening with every blow. She had not been trained for real combat; her magic wasn't strong enough.

Aerith was aware of running footsteps behind them, but she didn't dare turn round: any sudden movements and the spell might fail altogether. Something came flying over the top of the orb and landed at the Heartless-woman's feet. Aerith glanced down. It was a pair of dice.

Then the world exploded. Fire and smoke seemed to fill the office. The Protect spell vanished with a brilliant flash of light. Aerith and Rinoa were thrown to floor, Yuffie hurled clear away from them.

Very gently, Aerith raised her head. She checked herself: aside from being a little singed from the explosion, she was unharmed. She turned over. Rinoa was lying beside her, her arms over her head.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

Rinoa looked up.

"Yeah" she said, nodding. A voice startled them:

"Well, don't say thank you or anything(!)"

They turned. Setzer was standing over them, a pair of dice cradled in his hand. There was no sign of the Heartless-woman.

"What… Did you…?" Aerith stammered as Setzer helped them to their feet.

"Sometimes, when a game goes bad, you've got to make your own luck," he said, holding up the dice in his hand.

"Why'd you…?" Rinoa began to ask, but stopped when she caught the look of shame in Setzer's eyes.

"Is the kid alright?" he asked brusquely. After a brief search, they found Yuffie. She was curled up underneath a computer desk. It took some time to convince her to come out.

"Now," said Setzer, as Aerith once again lifted Yuffie into her arms, "I got a brief look at the map before we were interrupted, and I think the garage is this way…"

He started down an aisle between two identical rows of cubicles.

"What about Squall and Tifa?" Aerith asked, not moving.

"We're not leaving without them," said Rinoa firmly.

Setzer opened his mouth to reply, then shut it. He gave a sigh and a shrug.

"Alright, stick close," he said, grimly.

* * *

Squall's foot hit the topmost stair. Reno swung for him again. Gunblade and EMR clashed. The force of the collision sent Squall reeling. He tripped on the step and fell onto his back. Reno was on him in a moment, EMR hurtling for his head. Squall had just enough presence of mind to keep his gunblade pointing up.

Reno didn't even pause. Face still perfectly impassive, he drove his chest straight onto the point of the gunblade. Squall cried in alarm. The EMR was still aimed at his head. Only sheer instinct saved his life; his head flicked to one side, narrowly avoiding the blow.

Reno raised his arm for another strike. Squall's hand scrabbled for the trigger of the gunblade. A slight squeeze was all it took. The barrel of the gunblade roared. Reno was sent flying. Squall followed, blasting bullets into Reno as he tumbled down the steps. Each shot tore great spurts of dark smoke from his body. By the time Squall reached the bottom step, Reno had completely dissolved.

Squall sank to his knees. The gunblade slipped from his hand. He felt light-headed. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes. Then he heard the explosion. It was faint, coming from deep inside the building.

He had no time for himself. Grabbing his gunblade, he crossed the lobby and entered the corridor he had seen the others leaving by. It was not difficult to find them: the sounds of fighting carried easily through the otherwise silent building.

The door at the end of the corridor was hanging limply from one hinge. Squall whipped round the door post. The office was a total mess. Chairs, desks and computers lay strewn amongst the wreckage of the cubicles.

Squall flinched, and turned at the sound of something heavy hitting wood. A little way to his right he saw Tifa rolling from a computer desk onto the floor. Rude, eyes blazing yellow, leapt onto the desk after her. Tifa tried to raise herself, but collapsed back. Squall could see ugly bruises on her arms and face. With a cry, he rushed towards Rude, gunblade thrust out ahead with one hand. His finger squeezed the trigger.

'Click.'

Nothing.

He had exhausted his ammunition.

Rude barely glanced at him. He raised his fist, ready to finish Tifa. Squall was too far away to reach her. He could only watch.

Now someone else was running towards them. Rude's whole body stiffened, arms thrust out high. With a desperate, screeching cry Tifa pushed herself to her feet and, with the last of her strength, swept Rude's legs from under him. The Turk went down like a rock, smashing the desk beneath him into kindling. He was struggling to regain his feet when Squall reached his side. Three playing cards, sharp and stiff as knives, were buried deep in Rude's back. One clean cut was all it took. The headless body staggered round for a few moments, oily black smoke vomiting from the stump of its neck, before it finally crumpled to ground to dissolve.

Squall looked round to see Setzer standing a little way away, the frightened faces of Aerith and Rinoa peering round him. The gambler had a pack of cards in his left hand, while his right was raised as if to throw one. Recognising Squall, he lowered his arm and placed the cards back inside his coat. They made a sound like cutlery being scraped together.

"Alright?" Squall said.

"Alright," replied Setzer.

Squall turned to Tifa.

"Can you…"

"I'm fine," she snapped. For a moment she stood unsupported, swaying, then staggered sideways into a cubicle wall.

"Let's go; there might be more of them" said Setzer, turning his back on them. Supporting Tifa with one shoulder, Squall followed.

* * *

_Believe it or not, that was the cut-down version! I wanted to put a whole scene with Tseng's Heartless in there and everything…_

_Slightly excessive length aside: what did you think? Please review and let me know what was good, bad or indifferent._


	19. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

The police hover skimmed along, a foot above the cobbled street. Setzer was driving, with the injured Tifa in the passenger's seat beside him. Little Yuffie sat on her lap, while Squall, Aerith and Rinoa clung to the running boards and screwed up their eyes against the snow. Angelo was perched calmly behind Rinoa.

All of a sudden, they were in a wide, open area. They were at the foot of a vast mound of grey stone, from which flourished the trunk of Ansem's castle. A gorge, half a mile across and nearly as deep, encircled the mound. The only access to the castle was by lifts, suspended in thin air by techno-magic. There were eight lift stops, and each one was thronged with soldiers.

A squadron of some twenty men guarded the approach to what Squall recognised as the south-eastern lift stop. The soldiers raised their rifles as the hover emerged from the storm.

"Halt! Halt, or we fire!" ordered a familiar voice.

Setzer eased the hover to a stop just in front of the line of soldiers. A tall officer stepped forward, wrapped from head to foot in a thick winter cloak. A shock of grey hair and a pair of tiny sunshades peeked over the top.

"Sir Auron," said Squall, saluting as he dismounted from the hover.

"Cadet Leonheart," said Auron. He raised an eyebrow; a sign of greatest surprise, for him.

"I thought all the reserve regiments had been pulled out hours ago," he said.

"We, err, got lost, sir," said Squall awkwardly.

"Where is Cadet Strife?" asked Auron, glancing at the hover.

"He… went back," said Squall, flushing slightly despite the cold.

Auron grunted.

"Can't say I'm surprised."

He spotted Tifa leaning heavily on Aerith's arm.

"Cadet Lockhart, are you injured?" he asked, a sincere note of concern in his voice.

"Not… too bad, sir," said Tifa, saluting. Auron signalled to of his two soldiers.

"Take them to the castle immediately," he ordered. Just then, a courier appeared out of the blizzard.

"Sir!" he said, waving a radio transcript at Auron, "Brigadier Braska asks for your immediate assistance, sir. He says Maleficent is advancing on the south lift stop."

Auron hardly blinked, but immediately began issuing orders. Then he seemed to remember the small group standing around the hover.

"These two men will escort you to the lift," he told them, "There is a medical unit stationed in the entrance hall. Take Lockhart their first, and then get to the air docks, at the very top of the castle. General Caraway's last orders were to commence an immediate airlift away from the city. See that you obey them. Goodbye, Cadet Leonheart."

As the lift began to rise towards the castle, Squall turned back. He saw Auron climb aboard the hover, issue some orders to the driver, and speed off into the storm.

* * *

Down in the marketplace, Zack and Sephiroth stepped back, their battle momentarily forgotten. More bricks and roofing slates slid away as a vague shape lifted itself out of the shop ruins. Through the smoke, Zack could see that it walked on two legs, like a man. Two great arms were thrust out into the light, dragging itself across the debris. Then its head emerged. Zack screamed. 

It was Vincent. Or rather, it had Vincent's face. It was much taller and broader than Vincent, half as high and wide again as a normal man. Its whole body was covered in a gnarled black carapace, something between an insect and a reptile. Its yellow eyes burned with such ferocity that it seemed that the inside of its head must be a furnace.

The creature with Vincent's face stepped forwards and flexed its shoulders. Two vast bat's wings were raised high above it, stretching nearly twenty feet from tip to tip. One beat and it was in the air. Another and it was hurtling across the marketplace towards Sephiroth.

Sephiroth stood crouched ready for it. The creature flew low, one monstrous arm raised to strike. At the last possible moment, just as the beast's arm had begun to arc towards him, Sephiroth dropped and rolled aside. The claws scoured deep grooves in the stonework, but Sephiroth was not struck. The creature with Vincent's face soared past. It crested the roofs of the shops on the far side of the marketplace, pirouetted with the grace of a dancer, and returned for another strike.

Sephiroth was ready for it this time. He leapt high into the air, the Masamune thrown back for an overhead cut. His timing was perfect; the blade of the sword struck the creature's forehead before it had even drawn back its arms to swing. Zack braced himself for the crack of steel on bone. It never came. There was only a dull thud. The thick carapace on the beast's forehead had turned the blade.

The beast's claw arced towards Sephiroth. Grabbing its shoulder, Sephiroth flipped himself over the beast's back. He landed on his feet and span round to watch the creature soar across the marketplace, and turn back to face him once again.

The feeling of awe that had been rooting Zack to the spot suddenly vanished. Buster Sword in hand, he charged forward to close with Sephiroth. He could not begin to guess what had happened to Vincent, but he still seemed to be fighting on Zack's side, and that was enough, for the moment.

Zack managed a few passes with Sephiroth, whose focus was clearly on the winged creature. At the fourth pass he turned Zack's overhand cut wide and, using his free hand, fired a Thunder spell at him. Luckily for Zack the spell had been hastily formed, and his last-second Shell was able to absorb most of it. He was still blasted off his feet, however, and sent spinning across the marketplace. He landed in a daze, and it took him a few minutes to fully regain his wits.

Thankfully, Sephiroth was no longer interested in him. He crossed the marketplace in three great bounds, as if he were lighter than air. Another great leap brought him level with the flying creature. The blade of the Masamune shimmered with dark energy again. The beast hurled itself at Sephiroth, claws grasping for him. The bolt of dark energy struck its chest and exploded. Thin trails of dark energy flew across the rooftops, burning with a blue fire. The creature rolled aside through the air, missing Sephiroth, but it was not wounded. Sephiroth skipped across the roof of a shop, turned, leapt into the air, another spell already twisting around his sword.

This time, however, the beast was too fast for him. Sephiroth had just raised the Masamune when the beast's fist struck him. The blow was only a glancing one but it was enough to pluck him out of the air. Sephiroth's body, so thin and tiny against the creature, landed in marketplace. To Zack's amazement, Sephiroth was not killed outright. He lay on the floor, breathing heavily, the Masamune just out of arm's reach. As Sephiroth struggled to push himself back to his feet, Zack stepped forward.

He gripped his Buster Sword in both hands. He was now right beside Sephiroth. He raised the sword high above his head.

He didn't even hear the running feet behind him.

Zack's whole body jerked. He looked down. The thin blade of a _katana _was sticking through his chest.

Zack turned his head. A boy was standing behind him. Zack recognised him. His right hand was red with blood: Zack's blood.

"Cloud… Strife… You fool," he gasped. Then the pain overcame him, and he collapsed.

* * *

"What level, kupo?" the moogle asked. The little creature looked exhausted.

"Twenty four," Setzer replied. The moogle reached up and touched the crystal on the podium beside it.

Squall put his arm around Rinoa and gave her a reassuring squeeze. She smiled, but did not say anything. Behind them, Aerith cradled the sleeping Yuffie in her arms, exchanging a few meaningless sentences with Tifa.

The castle's central lift shaft hummed with nervous conversation. Every available ledge and walkway was crammed with people: civilians and soldiers both. Certain areas of the castle had been designated as strong points for the civilians to shelter in, but the sheer volume of refugees clogging up the lift system made moving them around a slow business.

It was the same down in the Entrance Hall. The opulent chamber was unrecognisable, covered as it was in camp beds, surgical screens and harassed medics. It was like a factory assembly line. The moment Squall had helped Tifa through the great double doors, she had been hurried away by a nurse, examined and told to wait by one of the many rows of camp beds. The medics were working with mechanical precision, curing those who could be saved, and disposing of the bodies of those who could not. Every bed was precious. Not a second was wasted. The medic, a grim woman in a white doctor's coat, had taken less than a minute with Tifa.

"These injuries are superficial," she'd pronounced. Handing Tifa a potion from a crate of them that lay against one wall, she shooed them out of the Hall. Not knowing what else to do, the young friends had followed Setzer.

"Permission or not, I've gotta get to the _Blackjack_," he said as they joined the queue of people filing from the Hall, down a corridor and towards the lift shaft.

"They're not going to let you just fly out of here!" Squall had said, but Setzer had ignored him.

"Here you are, kupo," said the moogle attendant, as the flat white dais glided down to their stop. Two soldiers armed with rifles stood at either end.

Squall had not spent much time in Ansem's castle before. He was sure that if he had visited it in happier times he would have appreciated the beautiful architecture of this shaft. It was truly massive: five hundred feet in white marble, with a gleaming pillar of brass in the centre. The lifts themselves, also of marble, floated smoothly through the air, supported entirely by techno-magic. To cap it all, Ansem had designed the most wonderful stained glass, in rose pink, for the ceiling.

Squall gasped. Despite the distance, he could make out thin, spidery shadows playing across the glass. He grabbed one of the soldiers, and was about to point up when they heard the crash.

Heartless, riding on wings of shadow, plummeted through the stained glass ceiling. There were dozens of them. The noise in the elevator shaft was horrendous. Soldiers were firing, civilians were shouting. There was a mad panic as people tried to push their way into the corridors. Some lost their footing in the struggle and plunged hundreds of feet, screaming.

"We've got to get off!" Squall yelled to Setzer.

"We're not there yet!" Seyzer replied.

More and more Heartless were thundering through the breach in the roof, filling the upper levels with the flapping of their great, black wings. They looked like giant, monstrous bats. Some of them were climbing over the face of the central pillar. Despite the screaming and the gunfire, Squall could hear the power lines fizzing as the Heartless' claws pierced the thin brass casing. The dais beneath Squall's feet gave a lurch, like a chocobo stung by an insect.

"Get off! Get off!" Squall yelled to the others, pointing to a lift stop just above them. Realising their danger, the two soldiers leapt across the narrow gap. Aerith and Rinoa followed next, jumping into their waiting arms. Setzer hesitated for a moment, then followed.

"Come on!" Squall shouted, trying to pull Rinoa towards the stop. She had her hand on Angelo's collar, but the dog was too terrified to move. The dais gave another heave. High above, the Heartless were stripping whole panels from the pillar's brass casing.

Reaching down, Squall wrenched Rinoa's hand from Angelo's collar. She tried to turn back, but Squall was practically dragging her towards the lift stop. At that moment, the dais lost all power. It keeled over. By sheerest chance, it tilted _away _from the lift stop. Squall placed one foot on the rapidly rising edge of the dais and leapt for safety. His hand slipped from Rinoa's.

"Rinoa!" he screamed.

"Squall!"

Then Rinoa and Angelo were gone, falling into the shadows at the bottom of the shaft.

* * *

_Hi, just the usual note asking to please review with your thoughts, comments and criticisms._


	20. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Cloud took a few faltering steps backwards. He had never killed before. He had never really thought about it. Books and movies made it look so clean. He had not been prepared for how solid another man's body felt, or how much force it would take to drive a sword blade through it. He had not been prepared for the blood.

What have I done, he wondered? He had entered the marketplace and seen Sephiroth, suddenly returned from he knew not where, battling a terrible winged monster; surely a Heartless. Then Sephiroth had fallen, and Zack, whom Cloud had assumed to be Sephiroth's ally, stepped forward to strike him down. After that, it was all confused. Now Cloud stood in the middle of the marketplace, his sword passed clean through Zack's body, the man's lifeblood dripping from his hand.

The winged beast hovered above the marketplace. It seemed confused. Its glowing yellow eyes were fixed on Zack's body. There was a blur of movement. Sephiroth was on his feet, the Masamune in hand. The beast spotted him, but Sephiroth was already in the air. A single lunge was all it took. The point of the Masamune passed through the creature's throat and out the other side. The beast's mouth was wrenched opened in a silent scream of pain. Limbs flailing, it plummeted to the ground. For a few moments it lay in a crumpled mass of carapace and broken wings. Thin wisps of black smoke began to peel away from its body. Half a minute later and the creature was gone, lost in a great cloud of black smoke. There were no remains.

Sephiroth watched impassively as the beast disappeared. Then he turned and saw Cloud standing over Zack's body. He smiled. It was a cruel, self-satisfied smile.

"My thanks, boy," he said.

"Sephiroth," Cloud gasped, as his shock vanished all in an instant.

"Sephiroth," he repeated, "What's happening? Why was Colonel Zack trying to…?"

Sephiroth cut across him:

"He thought to stop me, the fool. He was noble, and brave, and for all that he was struck down by an infant: a fitting end. His kind will have no place in the new kingdom."

"Wha… I don't understand!" Cloud stammered, "Why did Colonel Zack try to help that Heartless?"

Sephiroth stared at Cloud for an instance. Then he gave a short bark of laughter.

"What?!" he said, grinning like a wolf, "You thought _I _fought for the _Garden_? Ha! Pitiful! You are an even greater fool than he!"

Comprehension slowly dawned in Cloud's terror-struck mind.

"It was _Zack_ who tried to protect the Garden against _me,_" Sephiroth crowed. He seemed to be relishing every word. Cloud felt like he was going to throw up.

"And he failed," Sephiroth continued, "Shadow is eternal. Not even the strongest light can blot it out entirely. There is no escaping it. I have seen it. So I will raise this city to the ground, and bring it to a new life: my promised land, a kingdom of eternal darkness."

Cloud's legs gave way beneath him. He sank down onto his knees. Sephiroth chuckled.

"Goodbye, boy," he said, "Fall on your blade, or wait for the Heartless. There is no place for fools in my kingdom."

Sephiroth turned and walked into the blizzard. Cloud was left alone, kneeling silently over Zack's body.

* * *

"Rinoa! _Rinoa_!"

"Squall! They're coming, Squall!"

"No! No, Rinoa!"

"They're coming, Squall. We've got to _run_!"

Setzer and Tifa seized Squall under the arms and dragged him away from the lift shaft. He fought them with every step, as the tears streamed down his face. He didn't know what he was shouting anymore: the words all ran together into great, bawling cries.

The corridor was carved from smooth white marble, decorated with intricate tapestries of many different colours. The screams from the lift shaft could still be heard with perfect clarity.

Setzer and Tifa let Squall sink onto the floor. The two soldiers who had left the lift before them were nowhere to be seen.

"Squall. Squall?" said Aerith softly, squatting down beside him. Squall did not reply. He couldn't think. He couldn't grasp it: Rinoa, gone, surely dead.

"We haven't got time for this," Setzer said sharply, "We've got to get to the _Blackjack _now!"

"Give him a moment, for pity's sake!" Tifa yelled. She reached down and squeezed Squall's shoulder.

"Hey, big guy," she said soothingly. Squall didn't look up.

"Squall, we can't stay here," she said, "We've got to move. Can you get up?"

"Just leave me," Squall croaked, his throat dry from sobbing.

"Come on, Squall!" said Tifa, more urgently now, "We've gotta move!"

Squall did not reply. Setzer could see shadows moving at the entrance to the lift shaft. He selected the topmost card from the pack and held it ready to throw.

Suddenly, Yuffie spoke. She had not uttered a single word since Laguna had handed her to Squall down in the city. Her voice was very quiet, but certain:

"Please, Squall. We need you. Please."

Squall looked up. For a long moment, he and Yuffie stared into each other's eyes. Then Squall reached up, and brushed a few strands of hair from his eyes.

"You ready?" said Tifa. Squall nodded wordlessly.

"Ready or not, they're coming!" Setzer yelled. Heartless had appeared at the entrance to the lift shaft. They crawled over the walls and ceiling, a huge mass of shadow, glittering with dozens of yellow eyes. Steel cards flashed from Setzer's hands. A few of the leading Heartless disintegrated, but their fellows pressed on regardless.

"Go!" Setzer shouted. The three teenagers fled down the corridor, Aerith still carrying Yuffie. Setzer followed them for a few paces, his free hand ferreting in a coat pocket. He turned back. He was holding a pair of dice in his hand. His thumbs touched a hidden switch on the 'one' face of each dice. Then he was running again, the dice clattering down the corridor behind him. They exploded right in the middle of the Heartless. Setzer felt the heat of the blast on his back as he ran, but he did not pause.

"Left!" Setzer ordered as he passed the teenagers. The turn took them to a spiral staircase of white stone, which they climbed for many frantic minutes. Setzer took the rear, constantly glancing over his shoulder for pursuit.

Another door took them into an undecorated corridor of white stone. Copper pipes crisscrossed the walls and ceiling, humming gently with mako energy. Now Setzer took the lead again, guiding the tiny group through the curving corridors.

"There!" he shouted, pointing ahead, "The air dock!"

The corridor they were racing down ended in a t-junction. Directly ahead of them was a wide exit cut into the stone. It led into a short tunnel, and the teenagers could see the cloud-heavy sky beyond.

Now Setzer was racing ahead of his companions. They were a good fifteen metres behind him when he reached the exit to the air dock. Setzer turned to face them. A steel door slammed down across the exit, cutting the teenagers off from Setzer.

Aerith and Tifa hammered on the door, calling his name over and over again, but it did not open. Squall sunk down in the middle of the corridor, his head on his knees. Then he looked up. He could hear claws skittering on the stone floor.

The Heartless had found them.

* * *

Sephiroth could remember being human. The sensation was very strange, and it is very doubtful that he could have explained it to someone else, even if he had wished to do so. Kindness, compassion, humour: he was aware that these things had once meant something to him. He could even feel them somewhere in his heart, little flames of decency that the darkness had not quite yet snuffed out.

That was all, though. Every step he had taken since leaving the marketplace had brought him deeper and deeper into the living darkness he craved. They had tried to bar his way at the castle gate: many great warriors and sorcerers. They had failed; Sephiroth had always been strong, but the darkness gave him a power that was truly unstoppable.

That was not the only thing that had changed. Sephiroth looked down at the polished floor of the castle chapel: the face that it reflected back was barely recognisable as his own. Blue veins stood out in stark contrast to his lifeless skin. His pupils were tiny dots, all but consumed by the burning yellow light that filled his eyes. He was finding it more and more difficult to see like a human; his sense of smell was now so much more powerful, so much more nuanced. The nails on his fingers were black, and pointed at the tips. Most dramatic of all though, were his wings. Two great wings had flourished from his shoulder blades. On his right was a feathered wing, black as a crow's; on the left a bat's wing, as dark as its fellow. They curved round Sephiroth's body and head, shrouding him like a mantle.

"Dead."

Sephiroth looked up. The light from the storm-wracked sky filtered dimly through the great rose window at the east end of the chapel. A figure, half hidden in shadow, was standing at the western end of the naïve.

"Dead," the figure repeated, advancing slowly towards Sephiroth. It stepped into the edge of the light, at the very eastern end of naïve. Sephiroth was before the altar, beneath the window. The east end of the chapel was a great circle, carved with many beautiful and exotic figures.

"They're all dead," the figure said. Its voice was dull, and emotionless. Sephiroth smiled slightly when he recognised the intruder. It was the boy from the marketplace. Sephiroth would have laughed if he knew how to: the boy cut an almost comical figure. A great red cape, much too large for him, was wrapped around his shoulders. He also wore the Turk's bronze gauntlet, ridiculously oversized on his boyish arm. Zack's Buster Sword trailed from his right hand. Sephiroth doubted the boy could even lift it.

"Dead!" the boy shouted, angry now, "Stair after stair, corridor after corridor. All dead. The blood… on the walls, on the floor. Bodies, lying where they… where _you_… All dead!

"Murderer!" the boy screamed, breaking into a run. In an instant Sephiroth's had the Masamune levelled at the boy's throat. The boy froze. His eyes were red from weeping, but their expression could not have been more hateful.

"You followed me," said Sephiroth. His voice was halting. It was difficult to remember words. Clawing, hungry darkness clouded everything.

"I followed you," the boy nodded, "I followed you… to put it right. Zack… Zack was gonna stop you. I… I have to make it right.

"I'll stop you, _with his sword_!" the boy yelled. He tried to bring the Buster Sword up into guard, but the weapon was too heavy and he merely swung it across his body.

"Tell me, boy," said Sephiroth, sword still raised, "What is your name?"

"Cloud," the boy replied.

"Then, Cloud, _die_."

The Masamune flicked forwards, thrusting at Cloud's throat.

The ringing note of steel striking steel sounded in the chapel. Sephiroth stared dumbfounded. Against all his expectations, Cloud had parried the blow. He could see the muscles straining in the boy's arms as he struggled to keep the Buster Sword raised, but his gaze did not waver from Sephiroth's.

"You are strong, Cloud," said Sephiroth, bringing the Masamune back up into guard, "but strength will not save you. _Die_."

* * *

_Hey! Only one more chapter and the epilogue to go. Please review and let me know what you think of this chapter!_


	21. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Cloud's body was bathed in sweat. It streamed down his back and forehead. He blinked furiously to clear it from his eyes, concentrating all his attention on Sephiroth. There was nothing else in the world. Everything was lost to him. There was nothing left for him to do, except fight.

Sephiroth's blade flashed in the dim light. Cloud parried wildly. His arms screamed with the effort of swinging Zack's Buster Sword. Cloud knew that the weapon was too heavy for him, but he could not have taken his old _katana_. That would have meant touching Zack's body. Cloud had not been able to even look at it.

Sephiroth attacked again. His point was aimed high. Too late did Cloud realise the feint. The tip of Sephiroth's sword sliced a line across the top of Cloud's right thigh. White hot pain burned through his whole leg. Cloud gasped. His leg buckled beneath him and he sank down onto one knee.

Gritting his teeth so hard that they ached, Cloud forced himself to stand. It was not a very deep cut; he could survive it. Sephiroth seemed surprised at Cloud's resilience, as far as anything could be read on that lifeless face.

Sephiroth attacked again, his blade whirling so fast that it appeared to be in three places at once. Cloud's reaction was pure instinct, his arms automatically performing the parries that had been drilled into them. Sephiroth's eyes widened in surprise: Cloud had successfully defended himself.

Cloud leapt to exploit this briefest of pauses. Levelling the point of the Buster Sword at Sephiroth, he lunged. The attack was slow, and clumsy. Sephiroth easily sidestepped it, sending Cloud staggering forwards across the chapel. Cloud screamed as the tip of Sephiroth's sword slashed across the small of his back. Cloud felt blood mixing with the sweat trickling down into his waistband.

He rounded on Sephiroth just in time to deflect another blow, this time arcing for his throat. Cloud riposted, slashing desperately. Sephiroth skipped back. A well timed blow from the Masamune knocked the Buster Sword wide. Cloud's body was wide open. Sephiroth cut at his head. Cloud raised his free hand to protect himself. Sephiroth's blade's struck sparks on the surface of the bronze gauntlet. Now Cloud was on the attack again, pushing Sephiroth back towards the centre of the chapel. His muscles ached with each movement of the Buster Sword.

A sudden parry from Sephiroth. Locking blades with Cloud, he pushed his sword up, throwing Cloud's arms high. There was a blur of movement, and Cloud felt the ice cold steel pierce his gut.

* * *

Squall looked up from his seat on the floor. Behind him, the steel safety door separating him and his friends from the air dock remained shut. Ahead of him, and to his left, the corridor lights were dim. They were being blotted out by the advancing wall of shadow. Dozens of yellow eyes glowed like stars amidst the darkness. They were heading towards the airdock, and they were moving very fast. 

Squall made his decision in an instant. The pain of his loss, the anger at Setzer's sudden abandonment, the fear of the Heartless: all of these he repressed. By sheer force of will he pushed these emotions aside. He felt them settle like heavy weights in his gut and in the back of his head, smouldering like hot coals.

They were unimportant, Squall told himself. He had to help his friends. There was no-one else left; they were alone.

"This way," he shouted, pointing his friends down the right hand corridor. He did not know where it led, but it was the only way open to them. Tifa and Aerith, still holding Yuffie tight, did not argue, but began to run. Squall could see the sweat on their foreheads and the tired determination in their faces: they were exhausted. So was he, now he thought about it: they had not stopped moving since the retreat from the walls early that afternoon.

The corridor curved with the wall of the tower, heading south. It was flat, with few doors leading off it. The three friends did not stop to check them. The Heartless followed close behind, never gaining, never tiring.

They passed a sign on the wall reading 'Observation Gallery'. Up ahead the corridor terminated in a long, oval room of white stone. Solid steel benches sat facing the window that took up the whole southern wall. It was thick glass, reinforced with thin metal rods. It was obviously built to give visitors a panoramic view of the city and countryside, but these were now grey blurs hidden by the snowstorm. There were no other doors.

"Trapped," Squall murmured, myriad plans racing through his mind. They could not go on; there was no door to bar; they could not hide; they could not sneak around the Heartless. They had two choices: fight or give in. He and Tifa had some skill, and Aerith was a formidable White mage, but how could they hope to succeed where the great and the powerful had failed?

Just as his despair rose afresh to overwhelm him, Squall hit on a plan. It was desperate, and perhaps even more dangerous than fighting, but it was the only option they had.

"Tifa," he said, crossing to the north wall. Taking hold of one end of a bench each, Squall and Tifa carried it across the room towards the south-facing window.

"On three, throw it," Squall said.

"One. Two. _Three_."

The heavy steel bench broke the window with a jarring crash, before tumbling out of sight into the storm. A second bench followed it, creating a wide breach in the glass. Wind and snow hurled themselves into the room, half blinding the three friends.

"Aerith, get Yuffie on your back!" Squall yelled, thumbing fresh cartridges into his gunblade. Aerith did as she was instructed, confusion written all over her face.

"Now climb!" Squall ordered, advancing to the entrance to the oval room, "Go through the window, and up to the air dock, on the outside of the castle."

The two girls did not argue. They did not have to tell Squall that his plan was crazy, but they too knew that this was their last, and only, option. Tifa went first, then Aerith. A ledge had been carved just beneath the window. At the bottom was a lip, less than half a foot wide. Gripping the top of the ledge tightly, the two girls shuffled along. Squall soon lost sight of them as they passed the easternmost edge of the window.

The Heartless were very close now. Squall could pick out individual shapes from the mass. He raised the gunblade out ahead of him like a pistol. Six shots felled six Heartless. Any other foe would have dived for cover, or simply fallen back. Not the Heartless. They continued to advance, as fast and as single minded as if the shots had never been fired.

Squall considered simply letting the wave of Heartless roll over him, and losing himself to the shadow. Even if there was an afterlife, he could not imagine it being worse than the present one. Squall had never thought it possible to feel such pain as he felt at that moment. He stood, watching as the tide of yellow-eyed shadows bore down on him.

* * *

Cloud's legs folded beneath him. The Buster Sword dropped from his lifeless fingers. He fell to his knees on the chapel floor, Sephiroth's blade still buried in his stomach. 

The pain was simply incredible. The steel burned icy cold against his vulnerable flesh. He couldn't think. He could barely see, as his vision flickered from red to black and back again.

Sephiroth pulled his sword back. Cloud screamed. The former pain was sweet comfort compared to what followed. He could feel his lifeblood draining away as the pain consumed his entire body. He felt his mind beginning to break, like a deep sleep brought on by the searing agony of his flesh.

Sephiroth raised the Masamune high over his head for the final blow. Cloud looked up at him. The glow in Sephiroth's eyes had consumed his pupils; the eyes that stared down at him were those of a Heartless. Cloud feared those eyes, but more than that, he hated them.

Concentrating with every ounce of strength left in his body, Cloud fought for control. He felt the pain subside a fraction. His fingers flexed. Now his right hand gripped the Buster Sword. Pushing with his legs and free hand, Cloud lunged. The point of the Buster Sword pierced Sephiroth's breast as easily as if it were made of paper.

Living darkness exploded around Cloud. No blood flowed from the wound, only an endless tide of shadow. The Buster Sword exploded, scattering pieces of burning metal across the chapel. In an instant Cloud had lost sight of Sephiroth. A heartbeat later, and the chapel was gone. There was nothing left. Darkness rolled over Cloud's head and he knew no more.

* * *

The moment passed. Squall turned and crossed the Observation Gallery. Facing the north wall, he climbed backwards through the breach in the window. The cold hit his body like a hammer blow. Immediately, he began to climb, edging his way foot by foot across the narrow ledge. Even a moment's hesitation could numb his fingers. His grip would loosen, and send he would plummet from the face of the tower. 

Aerith and Tifa were already some way past the window, their limbs stretched out as far as they could reach to gain some purchase on the face of the tower. Squall could see Yuffie clinging to Aerith's shoulders. He followed them. He didn't think about what was following them, or what might lie ahead of them. It was all he could do to force his body to shuffle another few inches forwards.

The ledge seemed to curve for miles, though Squall knew it was only a few hundred metres. Just when he was sure he could go no further, the shape of the air dock loomed out of the storm ahead of them. It was a massive circular platform, attached to the top of the tower by girders set fourty-five degrees to the face of the building.

Tifa, who was leading, reached out, leaning dangerously over the sheer drop below. Squall held his breath as she swung herself across. Legs and arms on either side of the girder, she began to pull herself up towards the platform above. Aerith followed. Yuffie climbed off her shoulders and up ahead of her.

Now it was Squall's turn. He reached out and glanced down. By chance, there was a gap in the snowstorm just beneath him. There was nothing below him for hundreds and hundreds of feet. Panicking, Squall leapt before he was ready. His feet slipped and he was left with his legs kicking against thin air. He heard Aerith scream, but his fingers had a good grip on the far edge of the girder and he was able to heave himself up.

Eventually, the three friends were all clustered on the top of air dock platform. The vast copper-coloured landing pad was deserted. Not a single airship had remained behind. Squall's head sank onto his chest.

"Look!"

Squall turned round. Yuffie was pointing into the storm. Something was flying towards them from the south. It was a huge, indistinct grey mass. Squall expected its shape to become more defined asit came closer but, if anything, it became _less_ distinct.

The three friends stood open mouthed as the strange craft swung out of the blizzard to hover above the platform. It was a huge rock, the size of a house, coloured in every shade of the rainbow. Rockets, wings and jets had been bolted to every spare inch of the surface. A tiny crystalline cockpit was balanced precariously on top, near the prow. A voice blared from a speaker mounted beside it.

"What're y' all standin' there gawkin' for? Get onboard!"

"Cid!" Squall shouted, recognising the pilot's voice. The flying rock (Squall could not call it a ship) shifted until it was hovering right above the three friends. A round trapdoor in the bottom opened with a clang, and a rope ladder descended. Aerith went first, then Tifa, and finally Squall.

There was very little room inside the rock that wasn't filled by machinery, crates or Moogles. No attempt had been made to decorate the interior, which seemed to have been simply hacked out of the rock like a mine shaft.

"Four kids? Is that all?!"

Cid's head appeared, hanging upside down through a hole in the ceiling. His face was very pale, and clammy with sweat.

"Yes, Captain, sir, kupo!" said a Moogle, trying to salute.

"Sweet mother of mercy…" Cid murmured softly, as his head disappeared back through the ceiling.

"Wait!" cried Squall, seizing hold of the ladder and climbing up after Cid. The ladder took him up into the cockpit, which appeared to have been bolted together from a least four different airships. Cid was sitting in a moth eaten green armchair, fitted with many heavy leather straps.

"Git down and strap yerself in!" he ordered Squall, not looking up from the console in front of him.

"We've got to go back," Squall said, "Put this thing down! There might be others left inside."

"There ain't no one left," said Cid grimly, still not looking at him.

"What?" said Squall, more angry than afraid.

"I said there ain't no one left!" Cid shouted, "No one, y' here? We've flown round this castle three times already. If there's anyone left inside, they ain't gettin' out: the whole place is crawlin' with Heartless."

"You mean…, we're all that's left?" said Squall, in a dull whisper.

"Got it in one," said Cid, "Now strap yerself in. This is gonna get mighty bumpy."

Squall lowered himself into a seat at the rear of the cockpit. Tifa and Aerith climbed up to join him, Yuffie still clutching tight to Aerith.

"What _is _this airship?" Squall asked as he helped the two girls strap themselves in.

"This ain't no airship!" Cid laughed, "This is my _space_ship!"

Squall blanched as he remembered his visit to Cid's shed, all those many weeks ago.

"You mean you're actually going to…"

"Try and leave this world," said Cid, beaming.

"And… and, you've tested this, right?" said Squall, trying to keep his voice level, "You _know _it'll work?"

"Hell no!" said Cid, gripping the ship's wheel, "Ain't had no time, not with the Heartless runnin' all over the workshop. But she ain't like the others. Made her hull outta gummi."

"Gummi? That stuff that fell in the meteor shower?"

"Yip. Now shut up. I need to concentrate."

The gummi ship turned in a long arc and began to fly away from the castle. Looking back, Squall could see what Cid had been talking about: the lower levels were black with Heartless. They crawled across the surface, through the windows, circled the towers on bat-like wings. Radiant Garden had fallen.

Suddenly, a Moogle's voice could be heard shouting from below:

"Heartless incoming, kupo!"

Cid grasped the ship's wheel and pushed her up. They were right in the heart of the snowstorm now. Squall could see nothing through the cockpit window.

Yuffie screamed as a Heartless bounced off the roof. Then more thuds. The ship was surrounded. Hundreds upon hundreds of black shapes were around them, flying on monstrous wings. Their claws tore at the gummi. Squall could feel the ship shaking as the engine struggling to cope with the extra weight.

"She can't take this," Cid growled. Taking one hand off the wheel, he slid a panel aside on the console beside him. It revealed a large red button with the word 'warp' written above it in red letters.

"I kinda hoped we wouldn't have to use this," Squall heard Cid mutter.

"Hold on to somethin', kids!" he called. Cid punched the red button.

The sensation that followed was unpleasant in the extreme. Squall felt like his whole body was trying to stretch itself into a very thin line, while at the same time being contracted into a tiny ball. He could see and hear nothing. It felt as though the ship, and everyone aboard it, had vanished around him.

Then he was back in the cockpit, with a jarring sensation as if he had just been dropped into his seat from a height. There were stars above him. Peering out, Squall could see that there were stars all around them. The ship was floating in a great void, surrounded by millions of twinkling dots. Turning right round, he saw a great white orb, some distance behind the ship. It was Radiant Garden.

They had escaped.

* * *

Far below the gummi ship, in the hidden depths of what was once Ansem's castle, Ienzo was running. He stumbled from one empty corridor to the next, dark eyes searching every corner of the laboratory. 

He froze. The door ahead of him led into the computer room. Now his steps were slow, even fearful. He touched the control panel. The door slid open. To his left, the Heartless Creator hummed and flashed as it brought more and more Heartless into the world. Straight ahead, Ienzo could see Xehanort. He was standing in front of the terminal, his face illuminated by the garish light of the computer screen.

"Where are the others?" Ienzo asked softly.

"The snows are very strong now," said Xehanort. He spoke as if he had not heard Ienzo's question: he did not even look up from the terminal.

"The river has frozen over. The ice is rising. Soon it will reach the walls. Then it will cover the town. Only the castle will stand: an island of stone in a frozen sea.

"The witch Maleficent has entered this place," he continued, "The Heartless will have soon consumed the remaining hearts. And then the witch will have total control.

"I do not think I will destroy her," he said, thoughtfully, "She is a useful tool: her lusts make her easy to control."

"Where are the others?" Ienzo asked again, more loudly this time. Still Xehanort did not look up from his work.

"Gone," he said.

"Where?" Ienzo asked, his voice rising an octave.

"Consumed," said Xehanort casually, "by the darkness."

"You mean…, you destroyed them," said Ienzo, the colour draining from his face.

"They destroyed themselves," said Xehanort, rounding on Ienzo. Ienzo had to force himself not to take a step back, so cold was the expression on Xehanort's face.

"They sought the secrets of the heart," Xehanort continued "and _it_ found _them_. Their pride; their ambition; their greed: it called to the darkness. They were weak, and so the darkness consumed them. Only the strong can command the darkness; only the strong will master its secrets."

"You knew," murmured Ienzo "You knew what was happening, and you didn't warn us.

"You betrayed all of us!" he shouted, suddenly angry. Xehanort considered him for a second. Then he laughed. It was a deep laugh, and very cruel.

"Fool! Pitiful boy. So afraid, so _weak_. All this time, you thought _you _were manipulating _me_, like you manipulated our foolish master.

"Oh yes, I knew," he said, smiling at the shock written clear on Ienzo's face, "I knew all along. I let you plot and scheme and twist, because I knew it did not matter. You are weak, like the others. I knew this. I knew that when the time came, I could cast you aside."

"No!" Ienzo screamed. His hand plunged into his lab coat. He rushed at Xehanort, a long dagger flashing in his fist. He was a good three metres from Xehanort when he froze. The dagger fell from his limp fingers. His whole body felt numb. He looked down: thick, viscous darkness was spreading across his chest.

"Your anger has woken the darkness in your heart," said Xehanort, a look of triumph on his face.

"Goodbye, Ienzo. You have served your purpose."

Ienzo fell to the floor, hands scrabbling at his chest. The living shadows crept up his arms, and down over his legs. It was cold, colder than anything he had ever dreamt of. The last thing Ienzo saw before the darkness swept over his head was Xehanort standing over him, smiling.

**THE END**

* * *

_That's all, folks! Well, nearly: there's still the epilogue to tie up some of the loose ends. _

_Please review, and tell me what you thought of this chapter._


	22. Epilogue

Epilogue 

Cloud was surrounded by shadow. Endless, formless darkness: not quite void, not quite gas, colder than ice. Was this death, he wondered? He looked down: the hole in his stomach was still open, but it was no longer bleeding.

"Hello?" he called out. His words were swallowed by the shadows, and lost.

A figure appeared before Cloud, silver haired and carrying a long katana: Sephiroth. Cloud raised his arm to strike, clutching the still-sharp stump of the Buster Sword. Sephiroth did not move as Cloud rushed towards him. The blow passed through Sephiroth as if he were made of mist. Sephiroth melted away into the shadow, and Cloud was alone again.

"Do you not understand, Cloud?"

It was Sephiroth's voice, echoing inside Cloud's mind, shuddering through his limbs, surrounding him on all sides.

"This is my realm, Cloud. There is no light to save you here."

The figure of Sephiroth appeared in front of Cloud. Cloud struck out, this time with his clawed gauntlet. Again, Sephiroth melted away like mist before the dawn sun.

Now Sephiroth was there again, towering over Cloud. His body seemed to be merged with the cloying darkness, so that it was difficult to tell where one ended and the other began.

"This is the realm of darkness. Here, I am a god!" Sephiroth's voice boomed. The shadows around Cloud were thick now, clinging to his legs and arms so that he could not move. They filled his mind, blotting out memory, thought and senses.

Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his chest. It was very cold, and powerful; almost alive. In his desperation, Cloud reached out for this power, willing it to lend him even a little of its strength.

The stump of the Buster Sword flashed with a purple light. A new blade sprouted from the handle, wrapped in tattered white bandages. It felt light in Cloud's hand. With one swing he cut away the clinging shadows that held him in place.

Sephiroth started and drew back. Reaching down with his free hand, Cloud pressed his fingers against the gash in his stomach. The terrible, cold feeling in chest filled his whole arm. Drawing his hand back, Cloud saw that the wound had been closed.

Now Sephiroth attacked, a great clawed hand descending to crush Cloud like an insect. The newly mended Buster Sword twirled and the hand shattered into a thousand wisps of shadow. Cloud leapt, this strange new power lending him strength and determination. Sephiroth screamed as the Buster Sword bit into his shoulder, severing his entire arm. However, this did not seem to kill it. The arm whipped back round, wrapping itself around Cloud, squeezing him like a python. Cloud wrestled frantically with the severed limb as it clutched him tight.

For a long while everything was confused, as Cloud struggled with the shadow. He felt cold such as he had never experienced. The shadow surrounded him and was _in him_. Then Cloud was flying, faster than thought itself, and there was light ahead of him.

* * *

Ansem the Wise rose. He gazed at the void around him.

"So," he said to himself, "if the light of hope is extinguished, I shall henceforth walk with darkness as a friend. Here, in my exile, I shall be darkness in zero: DiZ."

* * *

Ienzo raised his head, blinking in the golden light of evening. Am I dead, he wondered?

"No," he said to himself, "this is not death. This is… something else."

He raised himself to his feet and looked around. He was alone, on a wide circle of yellow stone, at the top of a round hill. The hill overlooked a town of orange and yellow stone, topped with red slate roofs. Ienzo did not recognise it at all.

All of a sudden, Ienzo realised that he was not scared. He was not anxious or worried, at all. In fact, now he came to think about it, he did not feel anything. It was a strange sensation. He could remember what emotions felt like. He knew what it meant to be happy, or contented or afraid. He just did not feel it. It was as if there was a space inside him from which his emotions had been simply removed.

Turning round, he saw a tall figure standing by the path that curled its way down around the hill. It was dressed in a long black coat, its hood pulled low to conceal its face.

"Hello?" said Ienzo. He tried to make himself sound curious, in the hope that this would stimulate some genuine emotion. It sounded unconvincing, even to him.

"Do you feel it too?" said the hooded figure. It was man's voice, very deep and horribly familiar to Ienzo.

"Ansem?" he said, body tensing.

The man reached up and lowered his hood. The face beneath was very similar to Xehanort's; it was a little stronger, a little harsher in its lines, but the likeness was unmistakable. The stranger shook his head.

"No, I am not Ansem," he said.

"What do you mean?" Ienzo asked, "Where are we?"

"I am not Ansem, anymore than you are Ienzo," said the stranger, "We are all that is left. Or, perhaps, we are all that ever was. Ansem theorised about our existence, but he never seriously considered that…"

The stranger trailed off into silent thought.

"I don't understand," said Ienzo, wondering at the lack of fear he knew he should feel.

"Our Others, the beings called Ansem and Ienzo, were destroyed by the darkness," the stranger explained calmly, as if delivering a lecture to a class of students, "Even now, their Heartless inhabit the realm of light. Ansem's Heartless is the being who created the army that overthrew their world."

"I don't understand," said Ienzo, more forcefully, "Youare Ansem… aren't you?"

"No," the stranger said, shaking his head, "I am a shell; the remnant of a once complete being. I should not be, yet I am. I have no heart, and yet I exist. I am a Nobody. So are you."

Ienzo stared. He knew he should be amazed, incredulous, maybe even angry. He felt none of these things. He calmly received the information and considered it, dispassionately. Thinking without feeling: it was almost sickening.

"So…," he said at length, "That is why I cannot feel any… anything, at all?"

"Yes," said the stranger, nodding, "because you lack a heart."

"So… why do we exist? What can we do?"

The stranger with Xehanort's face smiled without humour.

"We can continue our Others' work. They studied the heart; maybe, with further study, we can discover how to create new hearts for ourselves. Then we will all become complete beings."

"All?" said Ienzo. The stranger made a gesture and four portals of darkness appeared around the edge of the hilltop. Four figures appeared, each one in a long black coat. Ienzo recognised them instantly. They too were subtly changed: the lines a little harsher, a little distorted, but it was clear: these were the Nobodies of his fellow apprentices.

"Xemnas," said Xehanort's Nobody, pointing to himself. He then pointed to each of the other Nobodies in turn:

"Xigbar," whom Ienzo noticed was wearing an eye-patch, "Xaldin, Vexen, Lexaeus."

Xemnas turned to Ienzo's Nobody.

"Zexion. You are Number Six. Together, we are the Organisation."


End file.
